


you could devastate me

by orphan_account



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Eating Disorders, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Gladers, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Pining, Recovery, Self-Harm, Slow Build, Social Anxiety, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-04-22 21:34:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4851287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Newt, do you remember how we talked about the dangers of turning someone into a saviour?”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“Yeah. It’s not a good idea to link our recovery to any one person, because if they let us down, it can endanger our progress.”</i>
</p><p>When he's diagnosed with acute social anxiety, Newt finds himself at the Glade Youth Institution, which promises to release him as a fully functioning member of society.</p><p>Months into Newt's recovery, a new patient arrives at the facility. Thomas is instantly intriguing, an apparent depressive who can't remember the suicide attempt that landed him in the Glade. Around Thomas, Newt almost feels like he could get a handle on this anxiety thing.</p><p>(Or the mental illness AU that nobody asked for.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: this fic contains multiple references to suicide, obsessive-compulsive disorder, anxiety disorders, eating disorders, etc. If any of these are potentially triggering for you, I urge you to proceed with caution.
> 
> This fic is partly inspired by my own experience with social anxiety disorder. Through my friends/family/myself, I have experience with all of the disorders depicted in this fic and have attempted to portray them as faithfully as possible. If I've grossly misrepresented any of them, please let me know so that I can fix them. It's not my intent to offend anyone!
> 
> Because of the subject matter, this fic is somewhat heavier than my normal fare, but I can promise a happy ending once all of the angst is done. So without further ado, my first Newt/Thomas fic!

When the episodes started, they said that it was just shyness. Extreme shyness, perhaps, but nothing more serious. Newt had always been more reserved than other boys his age. His parents said that he would grow out of it, but it only seemed to get worse the older he got. It started with him being afraid to talk to people he didn’t know; by his junior year of high school, it was much, much more than that.

The first attack happened on the first day of junior year. Despite the building being as familiar to him as his own home, when Newt reached the front doors of the school, he found himself unable to walk inside. Anxiety bloomed in his chest at the thought of stepping over the threshold. When he imagined sitting down in a classroom, surrounded by his peers, he felt nauseated. Unable to overcome the panic that seized him at the thought of going inside, he turned on his heel and walked home, where he lied and told his mother that he had a headache.

Skipping school became a frequent habit as the apprehension about entering the building grew. Some days, Newt was able to get inside with only the slightest quickening of his heartbeat. Other days, just spotting the school in the distance as he walked towards it was enough to make him turn tail and run.

He stopped making plans with friends. He took to shutting himself up in his bedroom.

When his parents asked why he was skipping school, he kept quiet, afraid to reveal to them his irrational fears. Because logically, he _knew_ that they were irrational. But logic couldn’t dictate his body’s response at the thought of social situations.

It was shyness, they said, and maybe it was at the start, but by junior year, it was so much more than that.

The final straw came when one of the teachers spotted him leaving. It was a test day, so there wasn’t even a full class load, but still the thought of going into school made Newt’s chest seize up with fear. Before, it had been easy to escape school grounds unnoticed. He’d never been caught, his absences only noted after the fact. But on this day, the chemistry teacher caught him heading for the gates. Newt was marched to the principal’s office and then to the exam hall, his anxiety building all the while.

By the time he was pointed towards his desk, Newt couldn’t take it any longer. He started to hyperventilate. He began to feel as if the walls were closing in on him. When a well-meaning student abandoned her test paper and touched his arm to ask if he was alright, his entire body tensed as if he’d received an electric shock.

He passed out. When he woke up, he was in the nurse’s office and she explained that he’d had some sort of panic attack. His parents had been notified. They were on their way. From the school, they went to see a clinical psychologist, who took Newt’s parents aside after talking with him for an hour and spoke in hushed tones.

The following week after a meal of spaghetti, Newt’s favourite, the brochure for the Glade Youth Institution was presented to him instead of dessert.

“A mental ward?” he said, looking down at the glossy leaflet with its pictures of teenagers wearing pale blue scrub pyjamas and too-wide smiles. “You’re sending me away?”

“The doctor said that they have an excellent program for helping people like you,” his mother said. “It’s only temporary, love. Just until you’re better. Then you can come home.”

There was no arguing. The next morning, Newt’s bags were packed and he was on his way to the Glade Institution, that all-too-familiar anxiety gripping onto him with an iron fist. His parents left him in the care of a nurse with a dull gaze and a haircut reminiscent of the late eighties, and it was the nurse who took him to meet his new therapist, Dr. Ava Paige.

It was only then that Newt learned the clinical term for his problem.

Social anxiety disorder, the therapist explained, and a very severe case. Left untreated, it was highly probable that Newt would deteriorate until he could no longer function properly in society. Without the proper care, the anxiety would overtake every particle of him until the idea of leaving the house was terrifying and the concept of speaking to people seemed impossible. It wasn’t possible to cure anxiety, according to Dr. Paige, but it was possible to control it. With a regimen of therapy and a course of anti-anxiety medication, she was hopeful that he could go home in a few weeks.

That had been February of his junior year. Now, it was September. Newt should have been starting his senior year, but here he was, still at the Glade, still trying to learn how to navigate everyday human interaction without losing control. He had made progress, but not enough to let him go home. He had friends on the ward now, but still balked at new staff members and patients. Group therapy was often overwhelming. Dealing with the therapy exercises assigned to him by Dr. Paige was excruciating.

They said it was shyness, but after months of trying and failing to overcome it, Newt could testify that it was so much more than that.

His first few weeks at the Glade had been spent in quiet isolation. Being in an entirely unfamiliar place was frightening, and honestly, Newt thought it was the worst possible thing to do to someone who was suffering from what he was apparently suffering from. But the Glade had a policy that said all of its patients were required to have a roommate, and despite his attempts to remain a loner, Newt was eventually drawn into a tentative friendship with the boy who shared his room.

His name was Alby. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Alby’s problem—although they were all required to keep their rooms clean, Alby’s space was organised with military precision. When he came into the room, he turned the lights on and off until Newt’s eyes hurt. There was a smooth grey rock on his nightstand that he touched every time he exited the room, without fail.

Despite his compulsions, Alby was excellent company.

Drawing Newt out of his shell wasn’t easy, thanks to the nature of Newt’s disorder, but Alby was persistent. Newt thought that it was because Alby also knew what it was like to constantly fend off feelings of panic and dread. Alby dealt with it by performing rituals—Newt hadn’t yet found a way to deal with it, but with Alby by his side, he was able to avoid it taking him over completely.

Alby had other friends in the ward who Newt slowly grew more comfortable with. There was Minho, a slightly older boy who seemed well-adjusted, but apparently suffered from severe depression. Gally, his roommate, was prone to mood swings but wary of discussing his actual diagnosis with the other patients. And then there was Frypan, affectionately nicknamed for his eating disorder, which he had gotten a handle on since coming to the Glade. Newt thought the name in bad taste, but when he mentioned it, Frypan shrugged and said that it was important to be able to laugh at yourself.

When he spoke of his friends in therapy, Dr. Paige said that she was impressed with him for overcoming the obstacles that his anxiety put up when it came to forging relationships. Newt smiled and let her think that he was making progress, but the truth was, he knew why it was so much easier for him to make friends in the Glade.

Here, everyone was just as damaged as he was.

 

* * *

 

“Your move, Newt.”

Friday afternoon in the Glade was free time, where the patients who weren’t confined to their rooms could do as they pleased, as long as it wasn’t harmful to them or anyone else. Newt usually spent it alone in his room, although lately, Alby had been coaxing him into the rec room to play board games. It was a practice that Dr. Paige encouraged—every time Newt hid himself away when there was a social opportunity, she said, he was depriving himself of the chance to get better.

So here he was, sitting on one of the folding chairs in the rec room and poring over a checkers board with Alby. A few feet away, Gally and Minho were playing a game of Go Fish. Frypan was watching some kind of Latin soap opera, although Newt was almost certain that he didn’t speak a word of Spanish.

Newt frowned down at the board.

“I hate checkers,” he said.

“There’s Monopoly on the shelf. And the Game of Life. I loved that one when I was a kid.”

While he spoke, Alby was tapping his fingers on the table rhythmically. Newt counted the beats, one, two, two, one, two, two. Shaking his head, he moved one of his pieces.

“May as well finish. Your move.”

While Alby considered his next move, Newt’s attention was drawn to the door of the rec room, which had creaked open tentatively. He could spot a short, slightly round figure hovering on the threshold and knew immediately who it was.

Chuck was fairly new to the Glade. He had arrived just a few weeks previously and spent most of his time in his room since then. He was younger than most of the boys on the ward and hadn’t spoken up much in group therapy, so his reason for being here was still somewhat of a mystery, but after a few months of living with his own diagnosis, Newt was fairly sure that he recognised the signs of some kind of anxiety disorder.

As he watched Chuck standing in the doorway, clearly debating whether or not to come inside, Newt thought that he should go and help him out. But his legs wouldn’t move; that hateful little voice at the back of his mind whispered that _he_ was in no position to help anybody, and even attempting to do so would just make him look like a fool.

So he stayed where he was, swallowing back a feeling of guilt when Chuck turned and fled.

“Are your parents coming this week?”

Alby’s question made Newt frown. He shook his head as he slid another little red counter across the board.

“They can’t make it,” he said. “They’re visiting relatives in England.”

Visits from his parents had been rare in the past few weeks. When he first arrived at the Glade, they came every week. His mother brought care packages and his father brought news of sports teams, and even though Newt had no interest in the games his father spoke of, it was touching that he wanted to keep Newt connected to the outside world. When it became clear that there was no quick fix for his anxiety, however, the visits became less frequent. Each week, it seemed like there was a new excuse.

It had been two months since the last one.

“Seems like something you should check out for,” Alby said. “Why didn’t they get you a weekend pass?”

Newt shrugged, pretending that he didn’t know that the reason his parents hadn’t taken him with them to England was because they didn’t want anyone to know just how screwed up he was. At first, they’d been supportive, but as Newt’s treatment continued, he was beginning to realise that his parents might never understand what he was going through.

The atmosphere between him and Alby was growing melancholy, but then a distraction came in the form of Gally pointing out the window.

“Greenie,” he said, and all eyes were immediately drawn to the courtyard outside.

_Greenie_ , Newt had discovered, was the patients’ way of saying that there was fresh meat coming to the hospital. Abandoning the checkers board, Newt wandered over to the window to get a better look at the new patient. He was too late, though; the door was already swinging shut, the patient having already been led inside the building.

“Think he’ll be on our ward?” Minho said, picking up his cards again.

“There’s a spare bed in Chuck’s room,” Frypan said. “They’ll probably stick him in there. Wonder what his deal is.”

Newt and Alby returned to their game, and Newt tried to focus on the checkers rather than the anxiety fluttering in his chest at the thought of the newcomer being placed in their ward. It had been the same when Chuck arrived, although realistically he had known that he had nothing to fear from the younger boy. Newt was finally at ease, more or less, with the friends that he had made in the Glade. The thought of a wildcard being placed among them made him falter.

New patients were an unpredictable variable. There was no telling how their arrival would upset the environment. Chuck was the only newcomer since Newt himself—he’d gotten lucky then, since Chuck didn’t seem eager to interact with any of the other boys on the ward, but what if this new patient was the social type?

He tried to quell the panic that was taking hold of him, and when his efforts proved fruitless, he tried not to be too discouraged. 

After all, as the good doctor herself constantly liked to say, it was all about baby steps.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt observes Thomas from afar and visitation day arrives at the Glade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of shocked at the feedback this has gotten so far, so I guess I should say thank you to anybody who's left kudos, subscribed, bookmarked, or even skimmed the first chapter. Especially thanks to the people who commented - you guys made me smile!
> 
> Disclaimer: I may or may not have been hungover when editing this, so apologies if there are any glaring grammatical/spelling mistakes.

For the rest of the day, Newt’s apprehension about the new patient made him hyper alert of everything that was going on in the Glade. He knew that the newcomer would be in therapy sessions with Dr. Paige for much of the day; then, he would be allowed to go to dinner with his fellow patients, and after that, he would get to move into his new room with Chuck.

As a result, Newt didn’t get a glimpse of the new boy until dinner time, when they all filed into the cafeteria in their matching blue scrubs.

The Glade was a relatively small facility, so it wasn’t difficult to spot the strange face in the crowd. He came in later than the rest and Newt caught sight of him slipping into the line for food right behind Chuck, an uneasy expression on his face.

Usually, Newt was wary of looking at people for too long. He didn’t like to be caught staring; the possibility of making accidental eye contact made his heartbeat quicken and his palms break out in a cold sweat. But he couldn’t help but let his gaze linger for a moment on the new patient, because even in the standard blue scrubs and white hospital sneakers, there was a beauty to him that Newt couldn’t just ignore.

Perhaps it was the deep amber eyes, notable even from across the room for their intense colour and long lashes. Maybe it was the dark brown hair, thick and standing out in every direction as though he’d been running his hands through it. Or maybe it was the pale skin, dotted here and there with dark moles, like constellations against a white sky.

While Newt watched him, the boy retrieved a tray of food and then wandered away from the line, glancing around the room at the tables. Newt felt a pang of sympathy at the vulnerability that suddenly flickered over the boy’s face. He remembered that feeling all too well, the uncertainty that had come with his first meal in the Glade as he wondered where he fell in the social hierarchy, and whether he would be committing a major faux pas if he chose the wrong table to sit at.

As it turned out, there was no social hierarchy in the Glade. There was only people, and Alby had been kind enough to teach him that.

Just as he had earlier with Chuck, Newt felt a sudden urge to go and help the newcomer. It was the right thing to do. Right now, he looked entirely lost and alone. Surely he would appreciate it if Newt asked him to sit at their table, or at the very least, introduced himself.

But then that spiteful inner voice reared its head again. _Don’t be so bloody stupid,_ it sneered. _As if he would want help from a slinthead like you. You’re pathetic._

So he shrank down in his seat and picked morosely at his salad, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the new boy sit down at a table with Chuck.

“How old do you think he is?” Minho said. Newt was a little taken aback to realise that he wasn’t the only one who had been observing the stranger. The rest of his friends were watching him with varying levels of covertness. Newt could only hope that none of them had been spotted.

“Older than Chuck,” Alby said decisively. “Probably around our age. Maybe a little younger.”

“So what are we thinking?” Gally said, leaning forward in his chair. “Depression? Anxiety? Can’t be an eating disorder, he’s not thin enough.”

“Not always a good benchmark, Gally,” Frypan said. “And you should hold off on the diagnosis until he speaks up in group. You didn’t like it when people made assumptions about you.”

Gally looked like he wanted to argue, but then he gave a little shrug and sank back in his seat, popping a shredded piece of lettuce in his mouth as he did so.

“Looks like he’s getting along with Chuck,” Minho observed.

It was true—when Newt glanced back at the other table, he saw that Chuck was laughing at something the newcomer had said. The sight was surprising. In all the time that Chuck had been at the Glade, Newt didn’t think that he had seen the younger boy smile once. Despite the fact that he and Chuck had barely exchanged more than three words with one another, the sight of him looking so happy left a warm feeling in the pit of Newt’s stomach.

“If he can make the kid laugh, I hope he sticks around,” Alby said. “I still can’t get him to hang out with us during free time, it’ll be good for him to have someone to talk to.”

That was one of the wonderful things about Alby. He was a caretaker, looking out for the other boys on the ward even though he needed just as much looking after as he did.

“Should we ask them to join us?” Newt heard himself say. He was surprised when the words left his mouth, and the moment that they did, fear rose in his chest. _Please don’t say yes,_ he chanted silently. _Please, please don’t say yes._

“Nah,” Alby said, shaking his head. “Tomorrow, maybe. They look like they’re alright on their own for now.”

Newt’s shoulders sagged with relief and he started to eat with more gusto, his anxiety easing as they slipped into their familiar dinner time routine. Alby and Minho started an impassioned debate about the latest episode of Orphan Black and Newt found himself getting drawn in to defend the accuracy of Tatiana Maslany’s English accent. Meanwhile, Gally and Frypan were making bets on whose parents would show up to visitation at the weekend.

It was comfortable and familiar, and if it wasn’t for the blue scrubs and white sneakers, Newt would almost have believed that they were just a regular group of friends, hanging out and screwing around.

Almost.

 

* * *

 

Bed time in the Glade followed a strict routine, more so for Newt and Alby, since Alby had a set of particular conditions that had to be fulfilled before he climbed beneath the sheets. Lights out was at ten o’clock; by then, patients were expected to be in bed, with their room tidied and all lights in the room shut off.

Before that, though, Alby had to perform his rituals. The light switch had to be turned on and off precisely seven times. Both his and Newt’s shoes had to be lined up perfectly by the door, with not even a shoelace out of place. He had to undress the bed and make it again from scratch, and after that he had to walk across the carpet in a particular zig-zag pattern, and only then could he climb into bed and let himself be lulled to sleep.

When he was still new to the Glade, Newt had found Alby’s rituals annoying and unsettling. Now though, he was accustomed to them. It wasn’t annoyance he felt as his friend tucked his sheets in or sidestepped across the floor, but pity.

Not that he would ever say so to Alby, of course. If there was one thing that Alby hated, it was people pitying him.

Tonight, while Alby performed his routine, Newt lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. Thoughts of the new patient flickered through his mind. He still didn’t know what his name was. After dinner, the boy had been led away for another therapy session while everyone else had been granted free time, and after that, it was time for bed.

Newt couldn’t help but be intrigued by the new patient. Perhaps it was just because it was so long since Newt had been in a position where he found someone physically attractive—after all, the only people he saw were the other patients in the Glade, and none of them quite fit the mould of Newt’s favoured type of romantic partner.

He frowned, tugging the covers up closer to his chin. Acknowledging that the newcomer was attractive was one thing—admitting that he might be _attracted_ to him was another. He knew that he was heading into dangerous territory if he let himself even consider that.

“Alby?” he said when Alby was in bed at last and the lights were out.

“Yeah, Newt?”

“Your parents coming tomorrow?”

“Yeah. They’re bringing my sister.”

“Cool.”

It was silent for a moment, and then Alby’s voice came out of the darkness again.

“Newt?”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry about your parents.”

Newt closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

Saturday was visitation day, when patients could be visited by any of the people on their approved guest list. The only people on Newt’s list were his parents. They hadn’t allowed Newt to add any of his friends, afraid of what people would say if the truth about where he was got out. As far as the rest of the world knew, Newt was at a prestigious boarding school for gifted children.

It didn’t matter, anyway. By the time he entered the Glade, Newt had already alienated most of his friends thanks to his bad habit of cancelling plans.

With his parents in England, that meant that there was no one there for Newt on Saturday, so while the rest of the boys filed into the rec room to see their families, he stayed shut up in his bedroom. He read for a while, though it was difficult to concentrate on the words when he could hear the others down the hall. When he grew bored, he left the room to take a walk in the courtyard, passing by the rec room on his way.

He saw Alby sitting with his parents and a little girl who was almost identical to him. Alby’s little sister rarely visited—his parents didn’t think that it was good for her to see her brother in hospital, so their visits were limited to once every few months. Alby never protested, because although he wanted to see more of her, he agreed with his parents that she shouldn’t be around him in the Glade.

At the table next to Alby, Gally was talking with his mother, both of them looking serious. Minho was set up on the couch with his older brother and Frypan was sitting at the checkers board with his dad, looking like a kid on Christmas morning. It had been a few weeks since Frypan’s dad had last been able to make it; he lived a few hours away, so coming to every visitation day just wasn’t possible.

Newt felt a pang as he saw them all, followed by a vague bitterness at the fact that, yet again, his parents weren’t here to support him.

It wasn’t until he reached the courtyard that he realised two others were missing from the rec room—Chuck and his new roommate. As he strolled along the path that led to the front gates of the Glade, Newt spotted them in the garden, sitting cross-legged on the grass and discussing something amongst themselves.

Afraid of being spotted, Newt halted in his tracks. He didn’t want them to see him. Chuck hadn’t shown any inclination to talk to him in the last few weeks, but it was clear from the newcomer’s behaviour at dinner the night before that he was much more outgoing than the younger boy. It probably wouldn’t faze him at all to speak to a stranger, but unfortunately, Newt couldn’t say the same about himself. If the newcomer spoke to him before Newt had the time to prepare himself, he was certain that he would only end up embarrassing himself.

And yet he couldn’t bring himself to turn back just yet. He hung back, hidden from view by one of the low-hanging trees dotted along the side of the courtyard, watching Chuck and the new boy. He wasn’t interested in eavesdropping on them, but he was transfixed by the way that the early autumn sunlight lit up the newcomer’s hair, making it look more like dark gold than the deep chocolate brown it had appeared in the cafeteria.

He said something to Chuck, who threw his head back in laughter. Feeling suddenly like he was intruding, Newt backed away and returned to his room, confusion settling over him as he lay back on the bed to stare at the ceiling.

He couldn’t deny that he was suddenly, immensely frustrated. He had a growing urge to introduce himself to the new boy, to make one more friend in the Glade, perhaps two, if Chuck could be persuaded to tag along. He could do it right now. They were both still out there in the garden, neither of them occupied with family visits. All it would take was getting off the bed and going back outside.

But he found himself facing the barrier of anxiety, and it seemed just as insurmountable as always. Reaching out to the new boy could end in one of two ways—either they would become friends, or Newt would be rejected. For all of his progress, rejection remained one of Newt’s biggest fears.

It was the fear of rejection that made him stay where he was.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt attends group therapy and finally gets to speak to Thomas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for those of you who were wondering why Thomas is at the Glade, you'll get to find out in this chapter. Thanks again to anybody who's read, subscribed, left kudos, etc, but especially to the commenters. Cookies for all of you! :)

Group therapy was one of Newt’s least favourite parts of the Glade, and the reason for that was evident from the name. Speaking to Dr. Paige alone in her office was hard enough, but sharing his anxieties and fears with a group was ten times worse. His first few weeks at the Glade, Newt had remained silent during group. It was only when Alby drew him out of his shell that he finally started to speak up more, and now, he was a regular contributor.

Today, though, the newcomer was joining their session. Newt knew that he should have expected it, since every ward at the Glade went through group therapy together, but it was still a shock to walk into the room and see him sitting there.

The new boy’s name, Newt had discovered, was Thomas, though he still didn’t know much else about him. It was Thomas’s third day at the hospital and he had yet to socialise with anyone apart from Chuck, which seemed strange, considering that he gave off a very social vibe. At first Newt thought that he was imagining it, but Frypan and Minho had also commented on Thomas’s outgoing personality being at odds with his choice in friends. It was because of this that they still hadn’t asked Thomas to join them at a meal or in the rec room—Alby said that he wanted to see how things played out if they left him to his own devices.

That was fine by Newt. He was still trying to decide whether he wanted to try and befriend the new boy or stay as far away from him as possible. Dr. Paige, he knew, would tell him to put himself out there. But seeing as how every time Newt pictured himself saying hello to Thomas, the anxiety monster reared its ugly head, he thought that he could be forgiven for his continued hesitance.

He took his usual seat beside Alby and while they waited for Jorge to arrive, they talked about how Alby’s visit with his sister had gone.

“She’s gotten huge,” Alby said. “I almost didn’t recognise her when they brought her in.”

“She looks like you,” Newt said, knowing that it would put a smile on Alby’s face.

“Yeah, you think? Hey, they’re checking me out in a couple of weeks so I can go to her birthday party. I’ll be back after the weekend, but I’ll actually get to spend time with her at home. Cool, right?”

“Yeah, cool,” Newt echoed.

The feeling of being watched crept over his skin and his eyes flickered to Thomas, who was looking at him with a considering gaze. Uneasiness washed over Newt and he felt a blush rising on his cheeks. He averted his eyes, though he couldn’t help but glance back a moment later. He found Thomas still staring at him, a smile quirking up at his lips now, and the voice of anxiety stirred in the back of Newt’s mind.

_You’ve got something on your face,_ it whispered. _Your shirt’s tucked into your underwear. You’ve got food in your teeth. You forgot to brush your hair today. Something’s wrong and he’s laughing at you. You’re pathetic, so pathetic._

Cheeks flaming, Newt gritted his teeth and stared down at the tiled floor until Jorge arrived.

Jorge was their group leader, a former patient of the Glade who had come back to do his part in helping kids who suffered like he had. Newt liked him. He was a little eccentric and his methods weren’t quite as conventional as he expected Dr. Paige would have liked, but he made the atmosphere in group comfortable, so that even the most nervous person felt like they were able to speak out. Without Jorge, Newt didn’t think he would have felt capable of contributing to group at all.

They started with Alby today, who wanted to discuss his relationship with his family. Newt listened attentively, though he couldn’t help but be painfully aware of the fact that Thomas spent the duration of Alby’s speech staring at Newt instead.

_You must be hideous,_ the voice hissed. _He can’t look away._

“Newt?”

He started in his seat at the sound of Jorge’s voice. “Er, sorry, what?”

Jorge gave him a reproving look. “It’s important to listen to your peers in group, Newt,” he reprimanded him, and Newt felt a flash of guilt. “You seem distracted today. Is there anything that you’d like to share with the rest of us?”

It was an invitation, not an order. Jorge never forced anyone to speak if they weren’t ready. But Newt nodded anyway, because refusing would make him feel guiltier than he already did.

“Uh, I suppose I’d like to talk about my family, too,” he said, eyes flickering to Alby’s. It was partly in solidarity, but mostly because he didn’t want to see Thomas staring at him again. “They went to England this weekend to see some relatives and they didn’t invite me.”

“That can’t have been easy,” Jorge said. “How did it make you feel?”

“Honestly? Bloody terrible,” Newt said. “Like they were ashamed of me.”

“What makes you say that?”

It wasn’t Jorge who posed the question—to Newt’s surprise, it was Thomas, leaning forward in his seat and looking genuinely curious. There was a beat of silence as the rest of the group processed the interruption. Finally, Jorge spoke.

“It’s great that you want to contribute, Thomas, but in group, we allow our speakers to finish before asking questions,” he said. “When Newt is done, I’m sure he’ll be happy to answer you.”

Thomas held up his hands, sitting back. “Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

“Newt, you can go on,” Jorge said.

Newt blinked. “Right. Er. Well. I know that the reason they didn’t want me to go with them is because they’re trying to keep me being here a secret. It was fine when it was just for a couple of weeks, but I think that now that I’ve been here for so long, they’ve gotten embarrassed. It’s easier to pretend that I’m away at boarding school than admit they’ve got a bloody nutter for a son.”

“Newt,” Jorge reprimanded. Derogatory terms for mental illness were strictly forbidden at the Glade.

“Right. Sorry. I just meant they’re ashamed because of my disorder. They’d rather keep me hidden than admit that there’s something wrong with me.”

Jorge nodded. “Anxiety disorders are tricky,” he said. “They’re often dismissed as someone just being shy or awkward. Because of that, it can be difficult to get people to recognise what a severe effect these disorders can have on the lives of those who have them. It’s even harder because the symptoms of an anxiety disorder aren’t always visible on the surface. For most people, it’s easier to accept the existence of a condition if they can see some form of proof—but for you and others like you, Newt, the evidence is often in your own mind. Your parents can’t see the full extent of what you’re going through, so they may be having trouble accepting that your problem is a real one and not simply a weakness. It’s difficult and it’s something that they need to work on as much as you.”

“I get that,” Newt said. “Still makes me feel bloody terrible, though.”

“Well, I encourage you to explore this issue with your parents and Dr. Paige,” Jorge said. “Does anybody have any advice they’d like to share with Newt?”

“Hang in there, man,” Minho said.

“Yeah, they’ll get it eventually,” Gally put in.

Jorge glanced at Thomas. “Thomas?” When he just shrugged, Jorge went on. “Perhaps you’d like to share something with the group?”

Thomas gave another shrug of his shoulders and then stood, clearing his throat dramatically. “Hi, my name is Thomas, and I’m an alcoholic,” he deadpanned. When no one laughed, he sat. “Tough crowd. How exactly does this work?”

“There’s no right or wrong answers here, Thomas,” Jorge said. “You can contribute whatever you like. Tell us why you’re here, tell us about what it’s like at home, or tell us nothing at all. It’s up to you. You’re not going to be forced into saying anything if you’re not ready.”

Thomas coughed. “Okay, well, I guess I can talk about why I’m here, since it didn’t really happen to me. Or it did, but to a different me.” He reached up to drag a hand through his unruly dark hair, awkwardness suddenly taking him over. “Uh, I’m here because my doctors thought it would be a good idea. They said that I tried to commit suicide, so I guess here’s as good a place for me to be as any.”

“You say ‘they said’ you tried to commit suicide,” Jorge said, his voice gentle. “Not that you tried. Is there a reason for your choice of words?”

“I can’t actually remember what happened,” Thomas admitted. Newt found himself sitting up a little straighter in his seat at the revelation. “I was hit by a car and ended up in a coma for a while. No lasting damage, except for the huge gap in my memory. Apparently I walked right into oncoming traffic, got hit by an SUV and went down. I don’t know why I did it or if I was actually trying to kill myself, but I guess they think I’m depressed, or something. So, here I am.”

Jorge waited a moment, and when he didn’t seem inclined to continue, he nodded. “Thank you for sharing, Thomas. Does anybody have anything to say to Thomas?”

“Welcome to the Glade, Greenie,” Gally said.

“It won’t be as bad as you think,” Alby added.

And then, to Newt’s surprise, he heard himself say, “It gets better.”

Thomas’s eyes flew to his, and despite the nerves building up inside of him, Newt managed to maintain eye contact. “I’ll hold you to that,” Thomas said. There was a smile in his voice that made the nerves in Newt’s chest shrink just a little bit, and he wondered what exactly he’d gotten himself into.

 

* * *

 

Painting was one of Newt’s favourite therapies at the Glade. It wasn’t ideal for his particular disorder. Most of Dr. Paige’s treatments for him involved getting him to socialise with the other patients or carry out everyday tasks that his anxiety complicated, like making a phone call or sending an e-mail. Treating anxiety was all about confronting it head on and refusing to let it control you.

But painting was therapeutic in its own way. It allowed Newt to just switch off for a little while. He could escape from the sometimes overwhelming presence of Alby and the other boys around him and just lose himself in a world of colour and shade. And he’d discovered a surprising talent for art since coming to the hospital. He was no Pablo Picasso, but he was reasonably proud of the paintings he’d produced in his months at the Glade.

The only problem was that the painting sessions were held in another ward, which meant that when Newt wanted to participate, he had to go and immerse himself in a wholly unfamiliar crowd of patients. Usually, he would take one of the other boys with him for moral support, but that wasn’t possible tonight. The way that Gally was curled up on his bed when Newt went to invite him made it clear that Gally was having a bad night and wouldn’t want to be disturbed. Alby was at an extra session with Dr. Paige, who wanted to make sure that he would be alright going home for his sister’s birthday at the end of the month. Minho’s meds had been switched and the new ones made him drowsy, and Frypan was dedicated to watching reality shows on Tuesday evenings.

So Newt made his own way to the art class, keeping his eyes glued to the floor as he passed through the hall that connected the A ward to the B ward. He found his usual seat and took out the landscape he’d been working on for the last week. It took a little longer to turn his mind off this time, since he was painfully aware of the fact that he had no ally in the crowd around him, but eventually he was swiping the brush across the page with ease.

He was adding a violet hue to the sun when he heard a whisper beside him, and his gaze was diverted from his picture. He tensed when he saw who was trying to get his attention.

Thomas was perched on the stool beside him, a line drawing balanced on his easel and a pencil gripped loosely in his long fingers. He was looking at Newt with a warm smile.

“Hey,” Thomas said softly. “I didn’t know anyone from our neck of the woods came over here.”

Newt didn’t bother pointing out the obvious—that it was still Thomas’s first week here, and he shouldn’t expect to know everybody’s routines right away. He was too taken aback by the fact that Thomas was here, and speaking to him voluntarily. Once again, he felt conflicted. Part of him urged him to continue the conversation, while the voice of anxiety muttered spitefully that there was no point because he would only screw it up anyway.

In his session with Dr. Paige that morning, she had encouraged him to do one thing that frightened him every day. It wasn’t a cure for anxiety, she said, but if you could get through that thing that scared you, then maybe you’d realise that anxiety didn’t have to dictate everything that you did.

Talking to Thomas was certainly scary. Newt swallowed, gripping his paintbrush a little tighter.

“I come here most weeks,” he said. The words came out slowly and he faltered a little on ‘weeks’, but if Thomas noticed, he was kind enough to pretend that he didn’t.

“Guess you’ll be seeing a lot of me, then,” Thomas said. He tapped his drawing. “I need to practice so I don’t get rusty.”

“Practice?”

“I want to be an architect,” Thomas explained. “Design things. I need to keep the creative juices flowing.”

Newt nodded and then turned back to his painting, unsure of where he was supposed to take the conversation from there. Conversational cues were not his strong point. He always wondered how he was supposed to move seamlessly from one subject to the next. Without a prompt, it seemed impossible.

He thought that that would be the end of it and Thomas would return to his own drawing, but instead, he gave a laugh and cleared his throat. Newt looked back at him, sure that it was meant to get his attention again, but unable to fathom why.

“You’re not so easy to talk to,” Thomas pointed out. A flush crept over Newt’s skin.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, I never said that it was a bad thing,” Thomas grinned. “So I have to work a little harder to talk to you. I don’t mind. Anything that’s worth doing always takes a little effort, right?”

Newt stilled, unsure of what Thomas meant by that. “Okay,” he said at last, just to have something to say. The telltale signs of an anxiety attack were starting to creep up on him. It felt as if a butterfly was flitting around in his chest, batting its wings against his ribcage in an effort to get out.

He wished that Thomas would stop talking to him.

“It’s social anxiety, right?”

Newt’s fingers clenched around his paintbrush. It wasn’t a secret, it hadn’t been since he arrived at the Glade, and he’d spoken about his anxiety countless times in group and in passing with his friends. But somehow, hearing Thomas state it so nonchalantly made Newt feel just a little bit ill. He didn’t want Thomas to know that he was broken.

It was stupid. He barely knew him, but Thomas was a beautiful stranger, and Newt realised that he longed to be able to appear composed and together in front of him. Perhaps it was a crush. Maybe it wasn’t Thomas himself, but what he represented—the outside world, who would never truly understand why Newt was the way he was.

Either way, it stung to hear him state Newt’s issue like it was nothing.

“Yeah,” he said, keeping his eyes trained on the painting.

“Must be hard,” Thomas said. His tone was still conversational. Somehow, he hadn’t noticed the signals radiating from Newt that he should back off.

“One way to put it,” Newt said.

“Is it bugging you that I’m talking about it?”

Newt halted in his painting. He was wrong—Thomas _had_ noticed his discomfort, and he actually sounded concerned that he’d done something to upset him. For just a moment, the spiteful voice in Newt’s head was quelled by a victorious one.

_He’s concerned_ , it trilled. _He’s concerned_ and _he’s reaching out to you! He wants to be friends!_

“A little,” he said. “It’s hard to talk about it sometimes.”

Thomas nodded, turning his attention back to his drawing. “I get it. No worries.”

Newt felt a pang in his chest at the sudden loss of attention. It was ridiculous—he was uncomfortable when Thomas was talking to him, and now that Thomas had turned away, he was disappointed. Once again, there was that irritating conflict that simply didn’t make sense. Not for the first time, Newt found himself growing frustrated with his own mind.

Perhaps it was the frustration that made him put down his paintbrush and ask Thomas if he’d like to join him and his friends at breakfast in the morning. Or maybe it was Dr. Paige’s voice at the back of his mind, reminding him that it was important to face his fears.

Whatever it was, Newt couldn’t deny the rush of warmth in his stomach when Thomas smiled and said that he’d love to.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Paige warns Newt about his friendship with Thomas. On visitation day, Thomas receives a mysterious visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: I have a [tumblr](http://spasmodictricksofradiance.tumblr.com) now! I need blogs to follow, so come say hi!
> 
> This week I started a new job and went back to college and I am EXHAUSTED, so all I'll say about this one is sorry for what's about to happen to Newt. He has a couple of chapters of sadness ahead.

“You seem happy this week, Newt.”

Dr. Paige looked at Newt over the rims of her glasses, her lips drawn into a small smile. Newt knew what that look meant. It was a look that said _I’m glad that you’re happy—now tell me why, so I can tell you why that shouldn’t make you happy_. It was the same smile she’d worn when she explained that cancelling plans with friends, although it relieved his anxiety in the short-term, was a crutch that would only serve to deepen his issues down the line. It was a smile that Newt had grown wary of, and with good reason.

“I am,” he said cautiously. “It’s been a good week.”

Amazingly, it was true. The entire week had passed with just the barest glimmer of anxiety, and on the whole, Newt had felt almost neurotypical for the last few days. It was a development that could only be attributed to Thomas, who had started spending his free time with Newt and the rest of his friends.

It was funny how the introduction of a new member into their group had actually put Newt at ease instead of setting him off, but it was true. After that first morning when Thomas joined them at breakfast, towing Chuck behind him, things had slotted into place remarkably easily. Thomas was funny; he made them laugh. More than that, there was something inherently calming about his presence. Newt had seen it that first day that he’d arrived with Chuck, but hadn’t felt it until that morning at breakfast.

With Thomas around, Newt had been less inclined to worry about the little things. His spiteful inner voice had been silent for almost all of the time that they’d spent together. They’d developed an almost instant rapport, one that frankly astonished Newt. He had barely second guessed himself once in Thomas’s presence—not when the nickname ‘Tommy’ had accidentally slipped from his lips, not when he’d messed up the punchline to a joke, not when he’d stumbled in the rec room and send a deck of cards flying to the floor.

Thomas was like a tonic for his anxiety. It was incredible.

Was it any wonder, then, that Newt had arrived at his therapy session with a smile on his face? Could anyone really judge him for spending most of his time with someone who apparently knew how to navigate the difficult waters of being friends with someone with an anxiety disorder?

Dr. Paige, it seemed, was ready and waiting to judge.

“Tell me why it’s been a good week,” she said. “I noticed that you’ve made a new friend.”

“Yes,” Newt said, preparing himself for the lecture that was about to come. “Thomas. Tommy. He’s fun.”

It sounded pathetic. Thomas was much more than _fun_.

“Just ‘fun’?” Dr. Paige said.

“He calms me down,” Newt said, though he regretted it when the therapist pursed her lips and scribbled something in her notebook. “He’s just a calming influence, I guess. He makes it hard to feel anxious around him.”

Dr. Paige scribbled some more and then closed the book over, looking up at him with that worrying smile again. “Newt, do you remember how we talked about the dangers of turning someone into a saviour?”

“Yeah. It’s not a good idea to link our recovery to any one person, because if they let us down, it can endanger our progress.”

He said it like he was reciting from a pamphlet. Dr. Paige had drummed it into his head over and over, insistent that he be careful not to fall into the trap of seeing someone as his saviour from anxiety. He didn’t think that was what he was doing with Thomas. Sure, Thomas was able to calm him down and make him feel better, but Newt didn’t think that he couldn’t recover without him. It was only then that he should worry, wasn’t it?

“I’m glad that you and Thomas are getting along,” Dr. Paige said, “but I don’t want you to depend on him to keep you from feeling anxious. Remember, all of the progress that you’ve made has been because of your own hard work. You should keep that in mind—Thomas may be a calming influence, but you’re the one who’s working to gain control of your anxiety, not him. You can’t count on him to make it go away.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Newt protested. He couldn’t help but feel a little put out by the therapist’s pessimism. “I thought that part of my treatment was learning how to establish relationships. I’ve established a new friendship without any outside help. _I_ was the one who invited Thomas to breakfast. I initiated an activity. I thought that was considered a huge step.”

“It is,” Dr. Paige agreed, “but you’re forgetting that your treatment is focused on learning how to establish _healthy_ relationships. I’m not forbidding you from being friends with Thomas, Newt. I’m very proud of you for doing what you did. But it’s important to remember that he can’t save you from your anxiety. Becoming dependent on him is just as dangerous as never taking the steps to make that friendship in the first place. Too many people in your position find a friend like Thomas and then step into the shadows to let them take the lead. What we’re aiming to do with your therapy is to give you the tools to deal with your own anxiety, not to enable you to find someone to deal with it for you. Do you understand?”

“I understand what you’re saying, but I don’t think that’s what’s happening here,” Newt said, somewhat surprised at the stubborn edge in own voice.

“Even so, I’d like you to remain cautious,” Dr. Paige said lightly. “Do you think you could do that for me?”

Newt nodded mutely. There was probably no point in arguing any further.

The rest of his therapy session was spent discussing his parents, who had come up with yet another reason to avoid visiting him this weekend. Newt was trying not to care.

After the session, he trekked to the rec room, where several of his fellow patients were wiling away the hours. Minho was stretched out on the couch holding a book over his head. To Newt’s amazement, Chuck was playing cards with Alby. And then, sitting in one of the armchairs with his feet tucked up underneath him, sketchbook laid across his lap, and a pencil grasped loosely in his fingers was Thomas.

Newt headed straight for him, flopping into the armchair beside him.

“Morning, Tommy.”

The nickname was second nature now. When he said ‘Thomas’ instead, it felt like cotton wool in his mouth. Thomas looked up from his drawing, a smile flickering over his lips, and then turned his attention back to the paper.

“Morning,” he said, adding another dimension to the building that he was sketching. “How was getting your head shrunk?”

“Enlightening,” Newt said, though he didn’t mention Dr. Paige’s concerns about their friendship.

“It usually is,” Thomas said, still grinning. “Make any breakthroughs?”

“Not this week.”

“Was she proud of you for making a friend?”

Newt hesitated, his reluctance not going unnoticed by Thomas. “Yeah,” he said quickly. His heart wasn’t in it.

Thomas gave a slow nod and then turned his full attention to his drawing, silently tuning Newt out. Newt didn’t mind. It was nice to just sit here, watching Thomas from beneath his lashes, observing the way that the sun streaming through the windows made his eyes look almost as if they were glowing, and the way that he nibbled on his bottom lip while he sketched.

Newt wondered if the reason Dr. Paige was so apprehensive about their relationship was because it was more than just a friendship to Newt. He had a crush on Thomas, no point in denying it, but he had hoped that it wasn’t so obvious to everyone else. Had the doctor picked up on it? Was her warning for him to remember his independence really a gentle reminder that relationships between patients were forbidden in the Glade, and that if he broke the rules, either he or Thomas would be transferred?

It was possible. But amazingly, as Newt watched Thomas’s hand travel across the page, he realised that it was a risk he would be willing to take, if Thomas was.

 

* * *

 

The weather on Friday evening was bright and warm, and since it was probably the last day of good weather before autumn really started to set in, the patients of the Glade were encouraged to spend it in the gardens. After dinner, Newt trekked outside with the others, feeling the familiar pang of strangeness that came with wearing hospital scrubs outside.

Gally and Minho, both having good days, set up a game of football (“Soccer, Newt,” Gally corrected him) with a few of the patients from ward B. Alby and Frypan were coaxed into playing; Chuck, Thomas and Newt were invited, but all three shook their heads and said they would watch. Sports had never been Newt’s thing.

“I wish they would’ve let me bring my sketchbook,” Thomas said, a light frown scoring his features.

Newt shrugged. “Can’t risk you losing the bloody art supplies, can they? It’s not like we’ve got a lot.”

“The rule is still bloody ridiculous,” Thomas said, attempting an imitation of Newt’s accent that just ended in him grimacing awkwardly as he tried to form the words. Newt shook his head, but he was smiling.

There was suddenly a burst of cheers from the boys playing football and then Minho was attempting to raise Gally onto his shoulders in celebration. One of the orderlies who was supervising them broke it up and the game resumed as normal, though the faint reminder of difference lingered in the air. Any other people would be able to celebrate goals as they wished—here at the Glade, physical contact wasn’t encouraged, and they had to make do with cheers instead.

Newt noticed Chuck’s attention was focused entirely on the match. The younger boy was sitting cross-legged in the grass, but he was leaning forward with wide eyes, watching Alby and Frypan pass the ball back and forth to keep it away from the other team. There was something like longing on his face. Silently, Newt nudged Thomas’s foot with his own and then inclined his head towards Chuck.

“Hey, Chuck, you wanna play?” Thomas said, noticing the wistfulness emanating from him. Chuck looked up at him, eyes suddenly turning anxious.

“No, I can watch.”

“You should play, man,” Thomas said. “I bet Alby wants you on his team, right, Newt?”

“Definitely,” Newt agreed. He still wasn’t entirely sure of why Chuck was in the Glade, but if it was anxiety, Newt knew the importance of making him feel like he was wanted. “They’d be bloody lucky to have you, Chuck.”

It took some more encouragement and a lot more reassurances that he wouldn’t be intruding to get Chuck to pad across the grass and ask if he could join in, but eventually, he did it. Thomas watched him walking away, an odd mixture of pride and concern flitting over his features.

“They’ll look after him, right?”

“We look out for each other here,” Newt said, affection swelling in his chest at the worry in Thomas’s voice. He was concerned about Chuck. It was sweet. “Don’t worry, Tommy, he’s gonna be fine.”

“Yeah,” Thomas said, though he still sounded unsure.

Newt lay back on the grass, uninterested in watching the match any longer. Instead, he rested his hands on his stomach and stared up at the emerging stars, looking out of place in a sky where the sun was still visible. The sky was turning violet now, the sun threatening to set even as the other boys were picking teams for the next game.

They would have to go inside soon, but for now, Newt could almost pretend that he was just a normal boy, lying in his back garden and staring at the stars.

A moment later, Thomas laid down beside him.

“Why so quiet?” he asked. Newt gave a shrug, though it felt strange with his back pressed against the ground.

“Just thinking,” he said softly. Then, because it was one of the things that was weighing on his mind, he added, “Visitation day tomorrow. Your parents coming?”

“Not my parents,” Thomas said. Newt recalled how last week, he’d found Thomas and Chuck in the garden during visitation hours. He wondered if Thomas’s parents were cast from the same mould as his; too ashamed of the son in the institution to come and visit him.

Was that why he’d walked into the traffic? His parents?

He wanted to reach out and grasp Thomas’s hand, lying on the grass between them, but the voice of anxiety resurfaced and told him that it was a bad idea.

“Me neither,” Newt said instead.

“Do you have anybody else? Relatives? Friends?”

“My parents keep it quiet,” Newt said. “So no, I pretty much only get visitors when they can’t find a decent excuse to prevent them from having to come here. Last time was June. I kind of wished they hadn’t bothered, it just ended up being awkward.” He paused. “What about you? Is your visitation list as pathetically short as mine is?”

Thomas laughed. “It’s decent,” he said. “The doctors think that keeping me in touch with people from before my… accident will help trigger my memory. So I’m going to get an endless parade of people from school, family members, probably some random stranger who saw me walk in front of the SUV. Most of them are probably going to want to talk about why I wanted to kill myself.”

Newt hesitated, unsure if the question that he wanted to ask would be crossing a line. “Have you—did you—you know what, never mind.”

His cheeks burned at the slip-up, but beside him, Thomas was smiling.

“No, come on,” he said, sounding playful. “I hate it when you do that. Tell me what you wanted to ask.”

“Have you remembered… anything?”

Newt hated how hesitant his voice sounded, but Thomas had pushed him. Thomas wanted him to ask.

“Bits and pieces,” Thomas said. “I still don’t remember why I was there or if I was actually trying to commit suicide, but I can remember what happened right before I walked into the road. The rest is still a blur, though.”

“Think it’ll come back?”

“No idea.” Thomas paused. “Not sure if I want it to.”

“It doesn’t bother you that you’re missing a chunk of your life?”

“Sure, it bugs me. I’m curious. But whatever was going on was obviously serious enough that I wanted _out_ , Newt. Who says that remembering is a good idea?”

Newt closed his eyes. If he could forget his anxiety, he would do it in a heartbeat. Perhaps Thomas was looking at this as an opportunity to have a clean slate. Newt could hardly blame him.

 

* * *

 

Visitation day dawned wet and gloomy, despite the bright weather of the previous evening. This time, Newt couldn’t walk in the gardens while everyone else saw their families. Luckily for him, though, Alby’s parents weren’t coming this week, so at least Newt wasn’t alone when the rest of the boys on the ward headed for the rec room.

Technically, he and Alby could go too. They weren’t banned from the rec room just because there were visitors there. But Newt had tried it once or twice, sitting in there with a book or his iPod, surrounded by his friends and their families, and it had only prompted a ball of anxiety. It was better to stay in his room or go elsewhere on the ward, where he wouldn’t be confronted with parents who actually cared enough about their children to visit them in this place.

Thankfully, Alby didn’t want to go to the rec room either. They spent the first hour of visitation in their room, playing Texas Hold’em and planning Alby’s weekend release at the end of the month.

“First thing I’m going to do is eat an ice cream sundae,” Alby announced.

For all of its good qualities, the Glade was severely lacking in the sweets department. Newt grinned at Alby’s enthusiasm.

“Have two,” he said. “One for me.”

“Maybe I can smuggle some in. Think it’d melt?”

“Probably.”

At the end of the first hour, though, they were both growing restless. Alby suggested a walk to the library, which was really just a room with a few bookshelves and a couple of old, threadbare couches. They abandoned the cards and headed into the hallway, and as they passed the rec room, Newt couldn’t help but peer inside.

There were the usual faces, Gally’s mother, Minho’s older brother, Frypan’s dad. Chuck had a visitor today too, an elderly woman with iron grey hair and round spectacles who seemed to be berating him about something.

Newt’s eyes were quickly drawn to the corner of the room, where he could see the back of Thomas’s head. His dark hair was sticking out in all directions as usual. He was talking animatedly, gesturing with his hands, and Newt’s gaze flickered to the girl sitting across from him.

The first thing he noticed was how pretty she was. Her hair was long and dark, laying over her shoulders in a mass of waves that made her look as if she’d come straight from the beach. Even from this distance, Newt could see that her eyes were huge and blue, ringed by dark lashes and framed by defined brows. There was a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She was smiling as she listened to Thomas, and Newt couldn’t help but wonder just who exactly she was.

Alby appeared behind him suddenly.

“What’s taking so long—hey, who’s the girl with Thomas?”

“I don’t know,” Newt said, hating the jealousy that was knotting in his stomach. “Come on, let’s go.”

He didn’t want to see anymore. But Alby shook his head, gripping onto Newt’s arm to hold him there. “Hang on.”

Reluctantly, Newt let Alby hold him there, and the two of them watched while Thomas and the girl continued to talk. After a few minutes, the girl said something—judging from the look on her face as she spoke, it was apologetic. Then she was getting to her feet and so was Thomas, and she was stepping forward to wrap her arms around him in a tight embrace that made Newt’s heart sink.

“Alby, come on,” he said, somewhat desperately now. “Let’s go.”

Then the girl was kissing Thomas on the cheek and Alby was whistling lowly under his breath. “Girlfriend, I guess,” he said. “Didn’t know he had it in him.”

The voice of anxiety, the one that had been so quiet and subdued for the last few days, suddenly made itself known at the back of Newt’s mind again.

_Stupid,_ it whispered. _Letting yourself fall into this little crush. How could you have been stupid enough to think that he’d return your feelings? You’re pathetic. He could never want you. Look at you—how could anyone want you?_

“Alby,” Newt said, swallowing hard. “Let’s _go_.”

And at last, they did.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Paige worries that Newt's friendship with Thomas is endangering his recovery, Alby gets some bad news, and Newt's parents visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Newt. Poor, poor Newt. That's all I'm gonna say about that.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://spasmodictricksofradiance.tumblr.com) now! I'm gonna be posting drabbles/one-shots etc. over there and probably taking prompts as well. I'm still getting started and looking for blogs to follow so if you have a tumblr, head over there and drop me an ask and I'll follow you! :)

In the days following Thomas’s visitation with the mysterious girl, Newt found himself understanding why Dr. Paige had been so adamant that he not allow himself to get too attached to anyone at the Glade. It wasn’t as if seeing the girl kiss Thomas undid all of the progress that Newt had made in the last few months, but it certainly did nothing to bolster his recovery.

He was disappointed in himself for misreading the signs with Thomas. He’d thought that they were good friends, possibly more than that, but then why hadn’t Thomas mentioned the girl? There had been plenty of opportunities.

Maybe Thomas was aware of Newt’s stupid crush, and in a misguided attempt not to hurt him, he’d kept quiet about his girlfriend. Or maybe Thomas had simply been playing a prank on Newt the entire time. Maybe they hadn’t been friends at all. Maybe it was all an elaborate set-up.

Logically, Newt knew that most of these theories were unlikely. Despite his own issues, Newt was a fairly good judge of character, and he didn’t think that Thomas would set out to be so malicious. But it wasn’t logic that dictated how he felt, it was that little voice of anxiety, which whispered constantly to him in the aftermath of visitation how _foolish_ he was for letting himself fall for Thomas.

His change in behaviour didn’t go unnoticed by Dr. Paige.

“You’ve been quite down, this week, haven’t you?” she said during their Wednesday session. “I noticed that you’ve been spending a lot more time in your room. And Jorge says that you haven’t been sharing in group. Is there anything you’d like to share with _me_ , Newt?”

He shrugged. “Not that I can think of.”

She studied him for a long time over the rims of her glasses. “Would this have anything to do with Thomas, Newt? Did you two have a falling out?”

“No,” Newt said, though the flush that rose on his cheeks gave him away. Dr. Paige smiled sympathetically and leaned forward in her seat.

“Newt,” she said kindly, “remember what we talked about when you first came to the Glade. The only way that I can help you to help yourself is if you’re honest with me.”

“I am being honest. We didn’t have a fight.”

“But something happened.”

“Things happen,” Newt said, wishing that she would drop it.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened with Thomas?”

Newt stared at the therapist, wondering if it would be entirely appropriate for him to punch her. Probably not, although it would certainly be therapeutic in its own way.

“What if I don’t want to?” he said finally. Dr. Paige gave a little shrug of her shoulders.

“That’s entirely up to you,” she said, “but I can’t help if I don’t know what the problem is. Everything that’s said in this room is confidential, Newt. You have nothing to lose by talking to me.”

Except that he _did_. For various reasons, romantic relationships between patients in the Glade were strictly forbidden. Even though nothing had ever happened between Thomas and Newt, even though it had all just been a misguided fantasy on Newt’s part, he couldn’t tell Dr. Paige the truth. He was certain that she suspected his crush on Thomas, but actually saying it aloud would change everything. Either he or Thomas would be transferred—to another ward, or even another hospital.

Even though he knew that he had to distance himself from Thomas, stay away from him until he could view him just as a friend, the idea of not being able to see him at all left an ache in Newt’s chest.

But he had to say something, because Dr. Paige was staring at him with that shrewd gaze, and if he didn’t throw her off track then she might transfer them anyway on suspicion alone.

“It wasn’t a fight,” he said. “I just thought about what you said last week, that’s all. About me not getting too attached to any of the other patients here. I thought that it was probably a good idea for me to distance myself a little bit.”

Dr. Paige raised an eyebrow. “You seemed determined to prove me wrong on that point, last week.”

“I changed my mind. Like you said, recovery is the most important thing. I have to learn how to stand on my own two feet instead of hiding behind big personalities.”

The doctor pursed her lips, but she didn’t pursue the matter any further. Newt wasn’t entirely sure that he’d managed to dissuade her from looking into his and Thomas’s relationship, but at the very least, she was letting it rest for now. They spent the rest of the session discussing his parents, who were coming to visit this weekend for the first time in months. By the time he left Dr. Paige’s office, Newt felt thoroughly drained.

He knew that most of the other boys on the ward were in the rec room and he could have gone to join them, but he didn’t want to run the risk of running into Thomas. Instead, he traipsed back to his bedroom, where he found Alby sitting cross-legged on his bed and using his fingernails to score deep scratches into his wrists.

This was one of the more dangerous compulsions that Alby engaged in, but it had been weeks since the last incident. Newt knew that he should probably go for an orderly, but instead he just clasped his fingers gently around Alby’s wrists, forcing the older boy to meet his eyes.

“Hi, Newt,” Alby said, sounding remarkably calm even as he strained to get free.

“What are you doing?” Newt asked.

“Just sitting here,” Alby said, still fighting to get Newt to release his wrists. His nails were scrabbling at Newt’s wrists now. 

“Alby,” Newt said, tightening his grip. “What happened?”

Alby’s eyes widened and then he fought harder to get his wrists free, finally managing to break Newt’s grip. He backed up on the bed so that his bed was pressed up against the headboard and started scratching again, and although Newt said his name again and again, it seemed as if he’d gone into a trance. Finally, there was nothing left to do but go and get one of the orderlies.

They came and took Alby away, and when they returned him before lights out, he was sluggish and tired. No doubt they’d sedated him to calm him down. There were fresh white bandages around his wrists and his nails, Newt saw, had been trimmed down to the quick. Alby performed his usual rituals slower than usual, and then he climbed into bed with his back to Newt.

“Alby?”

There was silence for a long time and Newt thought that Alby had fallen asleep, but then his voice emerged from the darkness, a soft croak that sounded hollow.

“My parents called tonight. They’re not letting me out for my sister’s birthday.”

Newt felt a stab of sympathy for his friend. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

Newt fell silent. Was there anything else that he could say?

 

* * *

 

It was strange to get up on visitation day knowing that he actually had somewhere to be. While he made his bed, Newt wondered what kind of mood his parents would be in when they arrived. Was there a reason that they’d finally decided to come and see him? Or was it just that they hadn’t been able to come up with a good enough excuse?

At breakfast, there was the usual thrum of excitement that came with visitation, although there was a key face missing from Newt’s table. Alby was still in bed after his episode the night before, too despondent to come to the meal. No one mentioned it until Thomas and Chuck appeared.

“Hey, where’s Alby?” Thomas asked as he slid into a seat beside Newt. Unconsciously, Newt stiffened and angled his body away from Thomas, earning a confused look for his troubles.

The task of answering would usually fall to Newt, as Alby’s roommate, but he stayed silent, stirring his bowl of porridge without looking up. At last, Minho spoke.

“He had a bad night,” he said. “He’ll be here by lunch.”

“Is he going to miss visitation?” Thomas prodded, directing the question at Newt.

Newt raised his head, resigning himself to answering. “No one’s coming for him,” he said, and then he turned back to his food and didn’t speak for the rest of the meal.

It was painful, but he had to do it. What Newt needed was time to get over his crush on Thomas. When that happened, they could try and be friends again, if they’d ever been friends in the first place, but until then, it was absolutely crucial that Newt kept a distance between them.

If he didn’t, he was afraid of what might happen.

A little before noon, the visitors started arriving. It felt strange to walk to the rec room instead of retreating into his bedroom. Newt curled his fingers into fists as he entered the room and saw his parents sitting at a table in the corner, both of them looking remarkably uncomfortable. For a moment, Newt wanted to turn tail and run back to his room. He could shut himself up in there with Alby—they could play cards until the visitors were gone.

But he steeled himself and walked forward, coming to a halt at his parents’ table just a moment later.

They both rose awkwardly and his mother came around the table to embrace him loosely, while his father offered a hand for him to shake. Then they sat again and so did Newt, fidgeting with his fingers as he did so.

“You look thin, love,” his mother said. “Have you been eating enough?”

There was genuine concern in her voice and Newt reminded himself that even though their approach to his disorder was entirely backwards, his parents _did_ care about him. He’d had a good childhood. He knew that they loved him. They just couldn’t wrap their heads around the chemical imbalance in his brain. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to blame them for that.

“I’ve been eating, Mum,” he said. He earned a nervous smile in response.

They made small talk, about his parents’ trip to England and what their relatives were getting up to over there. His mother told him that she’d started planting vegetables in the garden. His father proudly announced that he’d gotten a promotion in work, one that came with better hours and a company car.

They could have been any family sitting down to talk, if it wasn’t for Newt’s blue scrubs and the visitor’s passes around his parents’ necks.

The easy atmosphere couldn’t last forever, though. The first moment that silence settled over them, Newt’s father glanced over at his wife and raised a hand to scratch at his temple. His face was uncertain, his eyes averted, as he finally revealed what had made them come and visit.

“Dr. Paige called us the other day,” he said. “She told us that you’ve been down this week. Did something happen?”

Newt’s gaze flickered across the room, where Thomas was sitting playing cards with the dark-haired girl again. He swallowed.

“Nothing happened,” he said, but he sounded unconvincing even to his own ears.

“She said something about a friend you made,” his father pressed on.

“It’s nothing, Dad,” Newt said, closing his eyes. “I swear.”

“We want you to get better, Newt,” his mother said earnestly. “You are working hard on getting better, aren’t you? You’re not doing anything to endanger your recovery?”

“What would I be doing to endanger my recovery?”

His parents shared a glance. Newt hated that he knew what they were thinking—that the friend he had made wasn’t just a friend, and that once again, he’d allowed himself to be led astray by his emotions. He wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact that they automatically assumed the worst, or the fact that they were right.

“I know it must be hard for you in here with all of these other boys,” his mother said, lowering her voice as if she was whispering a shameful secret.

Well, in her mind, she was. Newt felt a blush creep up his neck.

“It’s not like that,” he said quietly. “I haven’t done anything with anyone.” At his father’s doubtful glance, Newt clenched his fists. “I _haven’t_.”

“No one’s accusing you of anything, son,” his father interjected, but Newt was angry now.

“Really?” he said hotly. “Because I notice that you didn’t ask how I’m feeling or whether there’s anything you can do to help. It seems like all you care about is finding out if I’m being corrupted by someone on the ward. You’ve been here for an hour now—the first time you’ve visited in two _bloody_ months—and you haven’t even bothered to ask how my recovery is going. Did Dr. Paige say something about me breaking the rules? Did she say that I was in a relationship with someone? Is that the reason you came here, so that you could make sure that I’m not embarrassing you even more by being a fairy as well as a bloody nutter?”

Too late, he realised that he was shouting. The other visitors had fallen silent, though Minho and Frypan were trying valiantly to keep their conversations going so that attention would be diverted from Newt. Shaking, Newt clenched his fists harder, his nails scoring into the flesh of his palm.

When he looked up at his parents, he saw that his father’s lips were pressed into a thin line.

“Newt, I understand that this is hard for you—“

“No, you don’t,” Newt said. He wasn’t angry anymore, just tired. “You don’t understand any of this, neither of you do. You don’t even try anymore. It’s easier just to keep me here, right? Better to hide me from the normals instead of trying to explain why I can’t do stuff like go to school or get a job or make a bloody phone call.”

“Newt,” his mother said tearfully.

He got to his feet. “Thank you for coming,” he said in a monotone. “I’ll see you in another two months.”

He turned on his heel and left the room, hands shaking. He stopped outside the rec room to compose himself, leaning against the wall and letting his eyes fall shut. He could still hear the murmurs of voices coming from the rec room. Slowly, he managed to get himself under control, but he nearly lost it again when someone spoke close to his ear.

“Hey, you okay?”

It was Thomas. Of all people, it had to be Thomas.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now, Tommy,” Newt said, keeping his eyes closed.

“I just wanted to see if you’re okay. That sounded ugly in there.”

“It’s none of your business,” Newt said, straightening up and opening his eyes so that he could look at Thomas while he reprimanded him. Thomas seemed hurt by the vitriol in his voice, but Newt kept on going, unable to stop. “Nothing I do is your business. It’s not your job to talk to me or look out for me. I can take care of myself.”

Thomas blinked. “I never said that you couldn’t,” he said, confused.

Maybe Newt would have relaxed if that had been the end of it. Maybe he would have calmed down and realised that Thomas was only trying to make sure if he was alright. But then he spotted the dark-haired girl standing in the doorway of the rec room, watching the two of them with a curious expression, and it made his stomach twist.

“Your girlfriend’s waiting,” he said, his voice thick.

He left before Thomas could say anything else.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt opens up in group, Thomas wants to know why Newt's been avoiding him, and Alby's a good friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we may have reached the midpoint of this fic, although don't take my word for that - I planned it to be 3 chapters, now I'm thinking 10, but who knows how much longer I can drag this thing out?
> 
> Anyway, thanks again to everybody who's read, bookmarked, subscribed to, left kudos on, or commented on this fic. You're all angels!
> 
> You can find me [here](http://spasmodictricksofradiance.tumblr.com) on tumblr. Come say hi! :)

After visitation, Newt was summoned to Dr. Paige’s office to discuss his outburst. He felt like a little kid getting called to the principal’s office, and the way the doctor gently reprimanded him did nothing to ease the feeling.

He had expected to have some privileges revoked, but he got off with a warning.

“Don’t think that I’m condoning this behaviour, Newt,” Dr. Paige told him on his way out. “The way you handled the situation was less than ideal, but I _am_ proud of you for standing up for yourself. It tells me that you’re starting to find yourself again.”

He kept a low profile for the next few days, not wanting to draw any more attention to himself than necessary. Most of the other boys understood. They left him to his own devices, though Alby was always careful to make sure that Newt knew there was an open invitation to join them for free time if he wanted.

Thomas, on the other hand, was proving himself to be both extremely persistent and oblivious to the fact that Newt didn’t want to be around him. It seemed like whenever Newt ventured out of his bedroom, Thomas was there, with that achingly sweet smile of his. He kept trying to get Newt alone so that they could talk, but Newt didn’t want to hear what he had to say. He didn’t want to be let down easy, or hear about how Thomas felt about the mystery girl, or worst of all, discover that their entire friendship had been based on pity.

So he learned to only leave his room when he knew that Thomas wouldn’t be around. He stopped going to art therapy, even though it made his week just a little bleaker. At mealtimes, the only times when he couldn’t avoid Thomas altogether, he was careful to make sure that there was at least one person sitting between them, and he communicated in nods and grunting instead of actual sentences.

All of it, he was sure, had the effect of making Thomas think that he was even more insane than he might have before. That stung, but it didn’t matter. At long last, after weeks of avoidance, it seemed like Thomas had finally gotten the message. He stopped waiting outside of Newt’s bedroom. If he was sitting with Newt’s friends when he came into the rec room, he went to hang out with Chuck, instead.

By November, avoiding Thomas was easy. But the other goal that Newt had hoped to accomplish remained unfulfilled—he still got butterflies in his stomach when he was around the other boy. He still wondered what could have been in another time and another place, if the mystery girl didn’t exist. His crush was as inconvenient and real as it had ever been.

At least nothing more had been said by Dr. Paige. That was one thing that Newt could be proud of—it seemed like he was getting good at hiding his feelings.

Not that that was something that was encouraged at the Glade, as Newt found himself reminded of when he filed into group therapy one gloomy Monday evening.

“We spend so much time talking about feelings here,” Jorge said, “but I’ve noticed that a lot of the time, we end up repeating ourselves. Don’t get me wrong, that’s not a bad thing. You’re all here for a reason, and talking through those reasons is an important part of getting better. It’s only natural that we constantly return to subjects that make us anxious or depressed. But today I’d like to do something a little bit different—I’d like to invite each of you to talk about something that may not be directly correlated with your diagnosis, but may still have a large impact on who you are, anyway.”

“What, you want us to share our secrets?” Gally said skeptically, his arms folded across his chest. “I don’t think that’s allowed, Doc. Can you really make us do that?”

“I can’t make you do anything, Gally, and I wouldn’t want to,” Jorge assured him. “My point is that it’s very easy to get bogged down by _one_ thing that you believe is the cause of all of your problems. Today’s exercise is about showing why that’s a bad thing—not a single one of you is here today because of one event or trait. It’s all about encouraging you to embrace every part of yourself as an individual. Like always, sharing isn’t mandatory, but I think it would be very beneficial. So, would anyone like to start us off?”

There was a tense pause as everyone waited to see who would be the first to throw himself to the lions.

Amazingly, it was Gally. After clearing his throat and unfolding his arms, he launched haltingly into a story about being bullied as a kid, one that had never been heard by anyone in the Glade, as far as Newt was aware. By the time he was finished, Gally’s face was red and there were tears in his eyes, but he also looked like a weight had been lifted.

It was as if Gally’s story opened the floodgates for everyone else to share, too. Newt had been seized by fear at Jorge’s initial suggestion, but with each boy that opened his mouth, he felt himself growing bolder. Finally, after Frypan shared a touching story about learning to cook with his grandmother when he was young, Newt spoke up.

“Sexuality can be a factor in mental illness, can’t it?” he said, looking at Jorge for confirmation.

“That’s right. Because of social stigma and the potential negative effects that can occur after coming out, a lot of LGBTQ individuals are more prone to mental health issues.”

“Right,” Newt said, nodding. “I guess I’d like to talk about that then. I don’t think I’ve ever brought it up in group before, but you all probably figured it out after the last time my parents visited. I’m gay. I came out a few weeks before I came here and my parents didn’t take it too well. They didn’t kick me out or disown me or anything like that, but they just didn’t bring it up. They treated it like it was some kind of big, shameful secret—kind of like how they’ve treated me since I got here. Lately I’ve been wondering if that has anything to do with why I get so anxious in social situations.”

“It’s certainly possible,” Jorge said, nodding. “I encourage you to explore that more in your private therapy sessions, Newt. Thank you for sharing that with us. Does anyone have anything they would like to contribute to Newt’s topic?”

There were murmurs of encouragement, but no one seemed inclined to continue the discussion. Aftera moment, Newt noticed Thomas’s gaze fixed on him, a frown pulling at his lips. A blush crept up Newt’s neck and he averted his eyes.

Was Thomas realising that Newt’s erratic behaviour around him was because of his crush? Maybe Newt actually saying that he was gay was all that Thomas had needed to put the final pieces of the puzzle together. Maybe the frown was because he was disgusted, or worse—maybe he felt _sorry_ for Newt.

_You can’t blame him_ , whispered his inner voice. _It’s hard not to pity someone who’s utterly pathetic._

Afraid that Thomas would try to speak to him when group ended, Newt made a scramble for the door the moment Jorge announced it was time to leave. There were two hours of free time before lights out; all Newt had to do was get to his bedroom, tell Alby he wasn’t feeling well, and then get into bed and he could try and pretend that this whole session had never happened.

He wasn’t quick enough. Thomas caught up to him at the door.

“Hey,” he said, sounding far more serious than Newt had ever heard him. “I need to talk to you.”

 

* * *

 

While the rest of the boys headed for the rec room, Newt followed Thomas to the library. His heart raced as he trailed after the dark-haired boy, wondering what exactly Thomas could need to talk to him about that required them being alone. The thought that Thomas might have figured out how Newt felt made his blood run cold.

There was no one else in the little reading room, which was both a relief and a disappointment. If it had been occupied, Thomas might have dropped the issue.

Then again, he may just have insisted they look for somewhere else to talk, and that would only have prolonged the agony of anticipation.

Thomas led him over to one of the threadbare couches and sat. Newt didn’t want to sit so close, but Thomas’s fingers were suddenly circling his wrist and tugging him down onto the cushion beside him. Newt’s cheeks flushed with heat and he yanked his hand back, averting his gaze.

“Sorry,” Thomas said. “Didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“It’s fine,” Newt muttered, though he still studiously avoided the other boy’s eyes. “What was it that you wanted to talk about?”

Even though he wasn’t looking at him, Newt could feel Thomas’s eyes boring into him. Thomas had a particular way of looking at people that made it seem like he was seeing right into your soul. Newt could feel that look now. It was practically drilling a hole in the side of his head.

He wished that Thomas would just speak and get it over with.

“Are you okay?” Thomas asked. Newt closed his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he said. “What did you want to talk to me about, Tommy?”

The nickname slipped from his lips as casually as it always did, though it felt wrong in their current situation. They were alone in a dim room, sitting uncomfortably close to one another, speaking alone for the first time in weeks. In light of that, the nickname sounded more intimate than Newt had planned.

“Right,” Thomas said, though Newt could tell that he was still looking at him with that shrewd gaze. “I guess I wanted to tell you that I thought what you shared in group was cool. It was pretty brave.”

There was something left hanging in the air, something that Thomas wanted to say but hadn’t. Newt could feel it hovering between them, the proverbial elephant in the room. Steeling himself, he gathered the courage to look Thomas in the eye.

Dr. Paige would be proud. Maintaining eye contact was one of Newt’s biggest issues.

“Is that all?” he asked, half-afraid of hearing the answer.

Thomas hesitated, uncertainty flickering across his face, and then he shook his head. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

Newt stilled. “I haven’t.”

“Come on, Newt.”

“I _haven’t._ ”

“You’ve barely come out of your room the last few weeks,” Thomas pointed out. “You spend most of free time in your bedroom. You never go to art therapy anymore, and don’t lie and say that you never went that often in the first place because Alby said he thinks that you miss it. Whenever we’re in the dining hall you act like I’m not even there. Even just now when I came up to you after group, you looked like you were about to make a run for it. Did I do something?”

Newt clenched his fists, heartbeat fluttering anxiously. He could hardly refute what Thomas had just said. All of it was true. But he couldn’t give Thomas a rational explanation, because there wasn’t one. The truth was that Newt had been avoiding Thomas because he was jealous of the mystery girl; because he had a crush on Thomas bigger than the planet earth, and the only way to make it go away was to stay away from him at all costs.

How could he explain that without sounding like a creep?

“Newt,” Thomas said, sounding hurt. “Come on, talk to me. The least you can do is talk to me.”

After what seemed like a lifetime, Newt was finally able to find his words.

“I haven’t been avoiding you because I wanted to,” he said haltingly. His brain had gone into overdrive as he tried to figure out a way to apologise to Thomas without revealing the whole truth. “I just couldn’t be around you for a while.”

“Is it because of your anxiety?” Thomas pressed. “I thought that it was at first, but then you seemed so normal with everyone else. Did I do something to upset you? You can tell me. I want you to tell me so I can fix it.”

“It’s nothing that you did. It’s me. I’m an idiot.”

“What did you do?”

Newt hesitated. He was getting too close to the truth. One misstep and it would all come rushing out. He was lucky that Thomas hadn’t figured him out yet, but if he said one wrong thing, then Thomas would know everything. He was smart, after all. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out how Newt felt about him.

“Can we just forget about it?” Newt said. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop. I promise.”

It was a promise that he knew he shouldn’t make, but it was also the only way he could see Thomas agreeing to let this go.

“I don’t want to forget about it,” Thomas said, frowning.

“ _Please_.”

“Something’s wrong,” Thomas said. “I’m worried about you.”

Newt hated to admit it, but the words thrilled him. Thomas was concerned for him. He wanted to know what was wrong. He wanted to _help_ him. It had been so long since they were alone together that Newt had forgotten how good Thomas could make him feel just by being in the same room as him, but now, he was reminded of what a calming presence the other boy was. And he was so earnest—so genuinely eager to help.

For a moment, he considered if it would really be so bad for Thomas to discover the truth.

But then he remembered the dark-haired girl with the impossibly blue eyes and his stomach twisted. Maybe Thomas wouldn’t care, but he certainly couldn’t reciprocate. And Newt genuinely couldn’t decide what would be worse—Thomas outright rejecting him, or Thomas trying to let him down easy.

Suddenly, he needed to get away.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he said, getting to his feet even as Thomas tried to protest. “I’m sorry if you thought that you did something wrong. I won’t ignore you anymore, okay?” Thomas tried to say something, but Newt was already heading for the door. “I’m tired, Tommy. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

* * *

 

Newt tried to stay true to his word the next day. He tried to act normal with Thomas. He didn’t flinch when Thomas sat next to him at breakfast, he responded to his questions in what he hoped was an ordinary tone of voice, he even played cards with him in the rec room in the afternoon. After dinner, though, he was tired of trying not to let his nerves show, so he retreated to his bedroom for the evening instead of going to the rec room. He left the door open, thinking that at least that way, Thomas couldn’t accuse him of trying to avoid him again.

He was joined by Alby, who was on an upswing, having recovered from the disappointment of not being able to attend his sister’s birthday party. Newt suspected that Alby hiding out in their room had more to do with being concerned for Newt than wanting to avoid the others.

They played a few rounds of Crazy Eights and then Alby called for a break. He lay back on his bed while Newt sat with his back against his nightstand, knees drawn up to his chest.

“So,” Alby said. “You’re talking to Thomas again.”

Newt was surprised, but he probably shouldn’t have been. Alby wasn’t stupid. Of course he’d noticed the change in how Newt had been acting. For that matter, everyone else must have noticed, too. Newt felt foolish for thinking otherwise.

“Yeah,” he said cautiously, wondering where Alby was going with this.

“You wanna tell me what happened there?”

Newt hesitated. His first instinct was to deny everything, but part of him wanted to tell Alby the truth. Alby was his best friend—if Newt couldn’t talk to him about things like this, then maybe they weren’t as close as he’d thought.

He mulled over it for a moment and then gave a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“There’s not really that much to tell,” he said softly. “He didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me. I just… I got carried away. I started to think of him as more than a friend and ended up screwing everything up.”

“Wait,” Alby said, sitting up to look at Newt with wide eyes. “You had a crush on Thomas?”

Newt flushed. “Yeah. I was never going to _do_ anything about it, I know the rules, but yeah, I started to like him. I figured it would be fine and we could just be friends, but then I saw him with that girl, the one who visits all the time.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I got jealous,” Newt said. “Really jealous. And then I started overanalysing everything like I always do and wondering if Thomas was even my friend, because he never said anything about the girl. You’d think he would’ve mentioned her, right?” When Alby didn’t respond, he sighed. “Whatever. The point is, I got jealous and it freaked me out, because I didn’t think I’d care that much. I thought it was a good idea for me to distance myself from him for a while, until I was over it.”

“So you’re over it, then,” Alby said.

“No,” Newt admitted. “If anything, it’s gotten worse. But he cornered me yesterday and wanted to know why I was avoiding him, so I had to stop. And I guess I figured that it’s better to be friends with him than nothing at all.”

Alby was silent for a moment. Then he rolled off of the bed and lowered himself to sit beside Newt, hooking an arm around his shoulders.

“That’s heavy,” he said. “Should’ve said something sooner, Newt. Maybe I could’ve helped.”

“You couldn’t have,” Newt said, “but thanks anyway. It feels good to get it all off my chest.”

“What, you didn’t talk about it in your sessions with Dr. Paige?”

“If I had, do you really think me and Thomas would still be on the same ward?” Newt pointed out. “I mean, imagine how that session would go. ‘Hi, Newt, how are you feeling today?’ ‘Well, Dr. Paige, apart from the planetary sized crush I have on Thomas, I’m just peachy.’ I’d be transferred in a heartbeat.”

“You’re probably right,” Alby said, frowning. “Planetary sized?”

“It has its own gravitational pull.”

Alby snorted. “ _Really_? I don’t see the appeal. What’s so great about Thomas?”

“Everything,” Newt said, prompting a groan from his friend. “What? I can’t explain it, Alby. Why is anybody attracted to anyone? Because he’s nice. He’s funny. He’s smart. He’s _gorgeous_. He makes me feel calm. It’s that. It’s all of that.”

Before Alby could respond, there came a tentative knock on the doorframe, and Newt realised in horror that the door had been open the whole time.

Anyone could have heard what he and Alby were talking about. One of the orderlies, a doctor, one of the other boys on the ward. None of them would willingly tell Newt’s secret, but it was easy to let things slip in a therapy session. Gally was infamous for his inability to keep his mouth shut.

But the intruder wasn’t Gally or a staff member—it was worse. Standing in the doorway looking sheepish was Thomas, his hand still outstretched to knock.

Newt’s heart sank.

“Hi,” Thomas said. “Um. Newt. Can we talk?”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Alby's the greatest friend of all time, the truth comes out, and Thomas starts to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems like this took forever to write even though it totally didn't, so that's a thing. Anyway, thank you once again to everybody who's read, bookmarked, left kudos on, subscribed to, or commented on this little fic of mine - I still can't believe that anyone's interested in my ramblings, but I'll try to keep it up for as long as there's someone reading!
> 
> You can find me [here](http://spasmodictricksofradiance.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. I'll be posting drabbles/one-shots and stuff there once I actually have the time to focus on stuff other than this and my multi-chapter Les Mis fic.

“I’ll give you guys some space,” Alby muttered, getting to his feet and edging past Thomas on his way out the door.

Thomas hesitated for a moment in the doorway and then stepped inside, closing the door carefully behind him. He leaned back, his eyes flickering to Newt’s, an uncertain smile on his lips. Newt was suddenly hyper aware of how _small_ the bedrooms at the Glade were. He swallowed.

“How long were you standing there?” he asked, his voice sounding faint and small.

“A while,” Thomas said sheepishly. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“So you heard…?”

“Enough,” Thomas said. “I heard enough.”

Newt closed his eyes, a hollowness settling in his stomach. So that was it, then. It was all out in the open. There was no hiding from it anymore.

He got to his feet and took a seat on his bed, and after a moment’s consideration, Thomas sat down on Alby’s mattress. They were silent for a long time as Newt tried to formulate the words to apologise. It seemed like nothing he said would be enough. Eventually, he went for the classic approach, afraid that if he didn’t say something now, then he never would.

“I’m sorry,” he said, forcing himself to meet Thomas’s eyes. Thomas blinked.

“Sorry?” he repeated. “Newt, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“ _Please_ don’t do that,” Newt said. “Bloody hell, Tommy, please don’t act like it’s not a big deal that I have feelings for you. It’s a problem. You shouldn’t have to deal with it.”

“Newt—”

“I forgot about boundaries,” Newt admitted. “I read into things too much and then I got upset when I found out that you had a girlfriend. I let myself get completely carried away and then I ignored you when I couldn’t deal with being jealous. It wasn’t fair to you, so I’m _sorry_ , okay? I’m sorry.”

Thomas frowned. “Teresa is _not_ my girlfriend.”

Newt wrinkled his nose. “I don’t understand.”

“Teresa is my best friend,” Thomas said. “I’ve known her since we were tiny, she’s practically a sister to me. If you hadn’t been avoiding me for the last few weeks then I could’ve told you that.”

Newt faltered. “She’s… she’s really not your girlfriend?”

“She’s really not,” Thomas said, shaking his head. Then, to Newt’s surprise, he was getting to his feet and coming over to sit beside him. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? You were jealous of Teresa?”

Newt’s cheeks flamed and he ducked his head to avoid Thomas’s gaze. “Yeah. I guess.”

“ _Newt_ ,” Thomas said softly. “Come on, how could you think there was anything for you to be jealous of?”

“Look, I know it was bloody ridiculous,” Newt said, still refusing to look at Thomas. “It’s not like I had any right to be jealous, but I couldn’t help it.” He clenched his fists. “If you’re completely freaked out and you don’t want me to talk to you anymore, I understand. I’ll stay away from you if that’s what you want.”

“That’s the last thing I want,” Thomas said, sounding exasperated. “Hey, look at me. Would you look at me for a second?”

Newt raised his gaze to meet Thomas’s, an uncomfortable blush creeping up on him. Here it was—the sympathetic rebuff. Thomas was going to let him down easy, say that they could still be friends. Newt had pictured this scenario so many times in his head that it took a moment for the reality of it to sink in. He still didn’t know if he would prefer this or for Thomas to reject him entirely.

“What, Tommy?”

“It’s the anxiety, right?” Thomas said.

Newt blinked. This wasn’t what he’d expected.

“Er, what?”

“The anxiety,” Thomas repeated. “That’s why you’re so bad at picking up on signals.”

_Right,_ Newt’s inner voice whispered. _Bad at picking up on signals. Like ones that say “LEAVE ME ALONE, I’M NOT INTERESTED”._

“I guess,” Newt said, his eyes darting away again. Then Thomas’s hands were on his wrists, tugging until Newt looked up at him.

“Then let me be as clear as possible,” Thomas said. His eyes looked very big and very dark in the dim room. “I don’t want you to stay away from me. I don’t want you to start avoiding me again. I don’t want you to _apologise_ for having feelings for me, and I definitely don’t want you to be jealous of Teresa.” A small smirk quirked at his lips. “Not because I don’t want you to be jealous over me. That’s kind of hot actually. But you have nothing to worry about as far as Teresa is concerned. We’re just friends.”

Newt stared at him, jaw slackening as he tried to process Thomas’s words. It was difficult. His brain just kept echoing ‘that’s kind of hot’ right back at him, making it impossible to understand what Thomas meant. It sounded like encouragement—but that couldn’t be right.

Could it?

“I don’t understand,” he said at last, earning a laugh from Thomas.

“I don’t know if I can make it any clearer,” he told Newt teasingly. Then something flickered in his eyes and he shifted closer to Newt on the bed. “But maybe I could show you, instead.”

Alarm bells sounded in Newt’s mind, because Thomas was leaning into him now, grip tightening around Newt’s wrists as he pressed their lips together.

Suddenly, Newt was at war with himself—the logical, rational part of him was screaming at him to get away, to stop this, because it could only end badly for the two of them, and what if someone were to walk in?

The emotional part though… the emotional part was celebrating like a kid on Christmas morning, because Thomas was kissing him.

_Him._

_Thomas._

_Thomas was kissing him._

His lips were softer than Newt would have thought, his hands big and warm as he released Newt’s wrists and threaded his fingers through his hair instead. It wasn’t until Thomas’s tongue teased at the seam of Newt’s lips that he realised he should probably kiss him back. Belatedly, he put his hands on Thomas’s waist and leaned into him, and they kissed until a noise outside made them both jump apart like they’d been electrocuted.

“Oh,” Newt said.

“Do you understand now?” Thomas asked, that smirk returning to his lips as he traced circles on Newt’s arm with his fingertip.

“No,” Newt admitted, shaking his head. “I think I’m more confused than I was before. I was expecting you to tell me to go screw myself and stay away from you, so _that_ —whatever that was—no, Tommy, I think it’s safe to say I still don’t understand.”

“Why would I tell you to go screw yourself when I could do that instead?” Thomas said, winking. Newt groaned and hid behind his fingers. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Look, Newt, I like you. Does that make it easier? I’ve had a crush on you since I got here and the only reason I never said anything was because I was afraid of scaring you off. I figured social anxiety wasn’t exactly conducive to relationship upgrades.”

“ _You_ like _me_?”

“Well, yeah. I thought the kiss made that pretty clear.”

“Is this a joke?” Newt demanded. “What, you overheard me talking about how I felt about you so you decided to mess with my head?”

“I would never do that,” Thomas said, sounding hurt. “Jesus, Newt, is it really so hard for you to believe that somebody could care about you?”

His words hit Newt like a punch to the gut.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “It is.”

Thomas frowned. “Then let me convince you,” he said. “Whatever it takes to get you to believe that I actually like you, I’ll do it. Just don’t go back to hiding around corners when you see me coming.”

Newt hesitated. The sincerity in Thomas’s voice was almost painful. Would it really be so bad to let him in? It was what he’d wanted since Thomas’s arrival at the Glade. How hard could it be to just let his walls down and take a risk on something for a change?

Then he remembered where they were.

“The Glade has a strict policy about patients and relationships,” he said. “They’re not allowed. If we get caught, we get transferred.”

“Then we won’t get caught.” Thomas grinned. “Have I ever told you that I’m _spectacularly_ good at breaking rules? Because I am, you know.”

_Don’t do it_ , whispered the voice of anxiety. _It could still be a trick. And if you get transferred that could put months onto your time here. Don’t you want to get out of here eventually? Be a real person again?_

Newt was tired of that voice dictating everything he did.

“Okay,” he said at last. “We can try this out.”

Thomas’s grin was blinding. “Really?”

“Really. But there have to be rules.”

“I can totally get on board with that.”

 

* * *

 

_Rule 1: no one can know._

This was the first rule that Newt had insisted Thomas agree to if they were going to explore their relationship while they were both still patients at the Glade. Technically, this one had already been broken—immediately after they had laid out the rules, Alby had returned to their room and walked in on Thomas kissing Newt fervently.

Newt’s immediate reaction had been to freak out and declare the whole plan off, but Thomas had soothed his nerves and they’d sworn Alby to secrecy. Newt still felt a little uneasy about it, but he knew that they could trust Alby.

_Rule 2: act normal._

This one was crucial. Whenever they were around other people, they had to make sure to act as if they were just friends. Even the slightest lingering glance could hint to someone that they were more than that, and that could set off a chain reaction that would lead to them being separated.

“What, so I can’t jump you in the rec room?” Thomas had said teasingly. Newt’s response had been to slap him on the arm.

“Not funny. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right, Tommy. Neither of us is getting kicked out of the Glade for this.”

_Rule 3: the doctors can’t catch on._

The doctors at the Glade said that therapy was a safe space, and mostly, it was. But as far as this was concerned, they were the enemy. Newt and Thomas would both have to be careful not to reveal anything in their private therapy sessions or in group.

That meant holding stuff back. It meant lying. It meant doing all of the things that professional therapists were qualified to pick up on, which meant putting themselves in danger of being caught out. This was, by far, the most important rule that Newt had come up with. If they broke the first two, they could do some degree of damage control, but if the doctors found out, it was game over.

These were the rules that Newt had insisted Thomas follow, and for the most part, he was doing well. Newt was almost positive that no one knew what was going on between them. There were moments, of course, where Thomas would sit a little too close to Newt or look at him just a little too long. But all things considered, Newt thought that they were being remarkably discreet.

Today though, they both had private therapy sessions scheduled with Dr. Paige. The doctor had picked up on Newt’s feelings for Thomas before—he couldn’t help but worry that she would somehow sense that something had changed between them now.

Thomas didn’t help matters by declaring that he was going to walk Newt to therapy, though he couldn’t be persuaded out of it.

“If we were a normal couple,” he murmured to Newt as they walked the hallways of the Glade, “I’d be walking you to your locker and insisting on carrying your books. I can’t _do_ that here, so at least let me do this, alright?”

“Fine,” Newt relented, “but at least go back before I get to her office.”

Thomas turned back when they reached Jorge’s office while Newt continued down the hall to Dr. Paige’s. As usual, the door was open, waiting for his arrival, and he could see the doctor sitting on the black leather couch with one leg draped over the other. She smiled.

“Good afternoon, Newt.”

“Hi, Dr. Paige.”

He shuffled inside, shutting the door behind him, and then took a seat on the armchair that had become his favourite in his months at the Glade. There was a pause while Dr. Paige rifled through her notes and then she looked up at him, eyes meeting his over the rims of her glasses. The smile never left her face.

“So,” she said, “I heard that you and Thomas are getting along again.”

_She knows_ , the voice of anxiety whispered. _Boy, word travels fast here, doesn’t it?_

Newt swallowed. He had to remain calm, or everything would come spilling out.

“We were never _not_ getting along,” he said, hoping that the doctor couldn’t hear the nerves in his voice. “I realised that leaning on him too much could become a problem, so I distanced myself.”

“But you’re spending time with each other again,” Dr. Paige said. “So what changed?”

Newt was ready for this question. He and Thomas had prepared for it extensively, knowing that it was certain to come up when Dr. Paige realised they were no longer avoiding each other.

“Well, I know what you said about people like me using people with big personalities to hide behind,” he said. “And I definitely see how that could be a problem. But then I realised that I’m not going to be able to get through life _avoiding_ people with big personalities, so I should learn how to conduct myself around them. Hanging out with someone like Thomas can help me figure out how to speak up and not be so quiet all the time.”

Dr. Paige studied him for a long moment. “Alright,” she said, though she sounded unconvinced. “So instead of seeing Thomas as someone who can save you from social situations, you’re looking at him as someone who will help you to participate. A role model?”

“More like a challenge. If I’m spending time with someone more outgoing than me, then doesn’t it stand to reason that I’m going to have to work harder to be heard?”

Dr. Paige pursed her lips and then nodded. “Well, that’s admirable of you, Newt. Keep me updated.”

To Newt’s relief, she chose that moment to change the subject. For the rest of the session, he kept waiting for her to return to the topic of Thomas, but she didn’t. When the hour came to an end and he was walking out of her office, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

He’d done it. He’d stopped her from finding out the truth.

Granted, it was only one session, and he had a lot more to go before he could leave the Glade, but if he’d done it once then he could do it again. As Newt walked down the corridor to the rec room and spotted Thomas waiting for him on the couches, he began to think that maybe, just maybe, they could actually pull this off.

When he reached the rec room, Newt glanced around and found Alby playing cards with Gally. Newt met his eyes from across the room, sending a silent question, and Alby gave a slight nod in return. Heart picking up pace, Newt walked over to Thomas’s couch and tapped him lightly on the shoulder, tilting his head towards the corridor where the bedrooms where.

Within seconds, Thomas was on his feet and trailing after Newt.

 

* * *

 

“So?” Thomas said when they reached Newt and Alby’s room. “How did it go?”

Newt didn’t answer. Instead, he closed the door behind them, making sure that it was shut tight before wrapping his arms around Thomas and leaning down to kiss him. Thomas didn’t seem too put out by Newt’s lack of response—his hands immediately settled on Newt’s hips, a small murmur of approval getting muffled by Newt’s lips on his.

Newt pressed Thomas up against the door, pressing their bodies flush together. His heart was thudding wildly in his chest, palms growing slick with sweat as Thomas bit down gently on his lower lip. Newt threaded his fingers through Thomas’s, bringing their clasped hands up above their heads, resting against the door as he kissed Thomas with everything he had.

He wanted this moment to last forever, but it couldn’t. Eventually, he had to pull away to breathe, and when he did, he found Thomas looking at him with kiss-bruised lips and awe in his eyes.

“What was that for?” Thomas asked, toying with the hem of Newt’s scrub top and refusing to let him pull away.

“Sorry,” Newt murmured, blushing. “I made it through therapy without giving anything away. I guess I got a little, ah, carried away.”

“No need to apologise,” Thomas told him, grinning. “I _like_ it when you take charge. You should do that more often.”

“Bloody hell, Tommy.”

Thomas just grinned wider, leaning in to kiss him again. This time was shorter and sweeter; when it was over, Thomas took Newt’s hand and led him over to sit down on the bed.

“Tell me what happened,” he said, so Newt did.

“Your session is in the evening, right?” he said when he was finished. Thomas nodded. “Good. You think you can keep her from figuring us out?”

“Easy,” Thomas said airily, laying back on the bed with his arms crossed behind his head. “She’ll probably ask me a couple of questions about you to make sure that I’m not leading you astray or anything like that and then she’ll drop it. We’ve got plenty of other stuff to talk about. I’m pretty sure she’s going to want to spend most of the session discussing my memories.”

“I thought you didn’t remember anything.”

“It’s coming back. Bits and pieces.”

“You said that before,” Newt remembered, frowning. “Do you—do you remember why?”

Thomas sighed. “I don’t think there’s a big ‘why’, Newt. I think it was just stuff piling up. My parents, school, friends. It got too much. I had sensory overload and I wanted out.”

“Do you—I mean, do you still—“ Newt shook his head. “Sorry. Forget it.”

Thomas smiled at him. “Come on, Newt, you know I hate that. Say it.”

Newt met Thomas’s eyes. “Do you still want to die?” he asked softly.

Thomas sat up, his gaze never leaving Newt’s for a moment. He reached for Newt’s hand and linked their fingers together, squeezing hard. His hand was incredibly warm—it was hard to imagine it cold and dead, and Newt was terrified that Thomas would admit that that was what he wanted.

“No,” Thomas said firmly. “Honestly, Newt, I don’t know if I wanted to die in the first place. None of it makes any sense to me—all I know is that life got hard and I thought that I wanted to get away. But when I woke up in the hospital, I wasn’t sad that I was still alive. I was scared and confused and I didn’t know what the hell was going on, but I never thought _man, I wish I’d died out there._ ”

“Then why are you here? If you’re not really suicidal.”

“Doctors don’t like taking chances when it comes to kids who’ve tried to kill themselves,” Thomas said wryly. “Neither do parents, for that matter. I’m here because they’re afraid that I’m going to do it again. I tried to talk them out of it, but it turns out that nobody believes what you say when you’ve just attempted suicide.” He smiled. “It was a pain when they sent me here, but you know what? Now I’m glad. If they hadn’t, I never would have met you.”

“Don’t be a sap, Tommy,” Newt said, though he couldn’t hide the blush creeping up his neck. Thomas laughed and leaned in to kiss him again.

“Admit it. You love it.”

They were interrupted by two sharp raps on the door, the secret knock that they had agreed on with Alby when he’d walked in on them before. It meant that he wasn’t alone, so Thomas got up, lowering himself to sit cross-legged on the floor while Newt told Alby to come in.

He was accompanied by Gally and Minho, bickering about some card game that they’d been playing.

“Coming to dinner?” Alby asked, speaking loudly to be heard over the argument. “Frypan and Chuck are saving us a table.”

“Good, because I’m _starving_ ,” Thomas announced, leaping to his feet and practically bounding out the door. He paused to glance back at Newt. The look that he gave him was so nonchalant that it was hard to believe that his lips had been on Newt’s just moments ago. “Coming, Newt?”

Newt swallowed. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas comes to the Glade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took an eternity to write. I've been super busy and then I got sick and it turns out that writing fanfic when you're ill isn't the greatest idea. But anyway, here's an update at last, so sorry for the wait!
> 
> Once again thank you to anybody who's read, bookmarked, left kudos on, subscribed to or commented on this little fic of mine. It's terrible, but writing is so much more fun when you know there's someone reading what you're putting out there.
> 
> Oh and one final thing: I'm aware that it's October and a Halloween chapter would have made MUCH more sense, but I just love Christmas, okay? And the Secret Santa thing was necessary. Anyway, without further ado, more Newtmas adventures~~~

“I used to love Christmas when I was a kid.”

Thomas’s words made Newt smile. They were in Thomas’s bedroom while Chuck was at therapy, just lying on the bed beside one another and talking. It was entirely innocent—despite the fact that Thomas continued to claim that the fact that they had to keep their relationship hidden made it “extra hot”, they hadn’t done anything besides kiss in the weeks that they’d been together. They could have done what they were doing now in the rec room, but it was nice to be able to squeeze Thomas’s hand when he said something cute, or lean over to kiss the line of his jaw.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Thomas said, sounding wistful. “We had this set of really particular traditions, you know? Every year was the same. The week before Christmas, my mom made cookies and sent them out to all our neighbours. Christmas Eve, we’d order takeout and play board games by the fire. Then on Christmas morning, I’d wake my parents up at six a.m. and then we’d all go and open our presents together. We’d visit family in the morning and then have a huge dinner in the afternoon and then we’d watch crappy movies together. It was nice.”

“Was?”

“Well, my parents are divorcing. And I’m here. So I guess the traditions aren’t happening this year.”

Newt had been tracing circles on Thomas’s hip with his finger, but now he reached out to hug him instead. “Sorry, Tommy,” he said. He earned a shrug in response.

“S’okay. Things could be a lot worse.” Thomas paused. “What were your Christmases like as a kid?”

“When I lived in England, they were great,” Newt said. “The whole family was always around. But when we moved to the states it never really felt the same. Presents got better, though.”

Thomas laughed. “Well, the presents are the most important part,” he said playfully. Then he frowned, sobering up. “What’s Christmas like here?”

Newt didn’t have an answer for him. Although his one year anniversary at the Glade was coming up faster than he liked to think, he’d been admitted in February. The only festivities he’d experienced at the hospital so far were Thanksgiving and Halloween, and Thomas had been present for both. There was nothing that Newt could say about them that Thomas didn’t already know.

“I guess we’ll get longer visitation hours,” he said at last. “Some people will probably check out for a couple of days. They’ll probably decorate the ward.”

“Think they’ll get us a tree?”

“Maybe.”

“It’s two weeks away, you know,” Thomas said. “Man, I really did love it when I was a kid.”

Newt sat up, tugging Thomas into a sitting position as well. 

“Hey,” he said. “We could try and make it good here. We’ll get everyone on the ward to celebrate. Put up our own decorations. Sing Christmas carols.”

“You had me until that last part,” Thomas said, but a smile was tugging at his lips. “We could do Secret Santa.”

“With what money?”

“Gifts don’t have to cost anything to mean something, you jerk,” Thomas said, punching Newt’s arm playfully.

“Right, who doesn’t want a wallet made out of pipe-cleaners?” Newt said, grinning. Thomas shook his head.

“Scrooge,” he declared. “Materialistic _Scrooge_.”

“Ouch,” Newt said, clutching at his heart. “That hurt, Tommy. Right here.”

“Good,” Thomas said, but he was smiling. He leaned over and kissed Newt gently, fisting the material of Newt’s scrub top in his fingers as he pressed him back against the mattress. Newt kissed him back eagerly, reaching up to frame Thomas’s face in his hands when he made to pull away.

“You’re the best Christmas present I could ask for, you know,” he said, his voice quiet.

“Cheesy,” Thomas accused, but he let Newt kiss him again anyway. “Mm. Chuck’s going to be back soon.”

Newt made a noise of displeasure at the back of his throat, halting the line of kisses that he’d been planting down Thomas’s neck and looking up at him with furrowed brows. “Can we not talk about Chuck when I’m kissing you?”

Thomas laughed. “Sorry. But you should probably stop. Don’t want him walking in on anything, do we?”

Not for the first time, Newt felt a flash of irritation at the fact that they had to hide their relationship. In that moment, he would have given anything to just be a regular teenager with a regular boyfriend—but he wasn’t, and he knew that Thomas was right. So he pressed one final kiss to Thomas’s collarbone and stood, holding out his hand.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go hang out with the others.”

They passed Chuck on their way out the door, looking pale and drained like he always did after a therapy session. Thomas paused to see if he was alright and then he and Newt headed for the rec room, where they found the rest of the boys on the ward bickering loudly over what channel to watch.

“Hey, whoa,” Thomas said, ducking to avoid a punch that Gally had aimed at Minho. “Gally, man, calm down. If the orderlies catch you doing that you’ll be doped up for days.”

“Maybe _everyone_ should calm down,” Newt suggested, eyeing Gally distrustfully from Thomas’s side. Luckily, it seemed like the mood had passed—Gally flopped down onto one of the couches and the rest of the boys backed down too. Newt suspected it had something to do with Thomas’s presence. There was just something about him that made it difficult to stay riled up.

Ever the peacemaker, Thomas gathered everyone together for a card game and they spent the next hour playing, all arguments about television forgotten. Like always, Newt was careful not to treat Thomas any differently than the others, though it was hard not to slip up. His fingers itched to touch Thomas’s skin; even just to hold his hand or brush against the soft map of veins on his wrist. More than once, Newt found himself clenching his fists to avoid revealing himself.

When the time came for them to return to their rooms for lights out, he hung back a little, hoping that the others would file out of the rec room and leave him and Thomas another moment alone. But he was disappointed—Minho had slung an arm around Thomas’s shoulders and was chattering away about the card game. A frown tugged at Newt’s lips as he fell into step with Alby, who remained silent until they reached their bedroom. Newt sensed that there was something that he wanted to say, but in typical Alby fashion, he was waiting for the right moment.

It wasn’t until Alby had completed his night-time rituals that he finally spoke.

“You sure you’re not in over your head with this Thomas thing, man?”

“I’m sure,” Newt said, though it was a blatant lie. “We’re being careful.”

“Just don’t do anything stupid, alright? You’re the first roommate I’ve had in this place that I actually liked.”

“We’re not going to get caught, Alby,” Newt said into the darkness. “I promise.”

“Alright. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

Newt hoped so, too.

 

* * *

 

Newt and the rest of the boys on the ward spent the next two weeks putting Thomas’s Christmas plans into action. They managed to beg extra art supplies from one of the orderlies, which they used to make paper chains, snowflakes, and a surprisingly big and durable origami-style Christmas tree, which Chuck decorated painstakingly with glitter glue and cotton balls. They drew names for Secret Santa and Newt found himself spending too much of his free time on a painting for Minho. The only thing missing, Thomas declared when they were all gathered in the rec room on Christmas Eve, was the smell of freshly-baked Christmas cookies.

The words drew a snort from Gally.

“Don’t think we can manage that one, Thomas,” he said, earning a shrug in response.

“I know,” Thomas said wistfully, “so this’ll just have to do. Hey, do you think the visitors will appreciate all of this tomorrow?”

Newt didn’t think that they would. Despite all the hard work that had gone into making the paper decorations, they gave off a distinct air of sadness—they were a painful reminder that things like Christmas didn’t really have a place in the Glade. The actual decorations that the hospital had provided weren’t much better. The tinsel garland that hung from the walls was limp and dull, and the tiny Christmas tree was already drooping over even under the weight of its miniature ornaments.

Still, the whole point of this Christmas thing had been to make Thomas feel good, so Newt nodded.

“They’ll love it, Tommy.”

“I hope so,” Thomas said, grinning. “Are your parents coming?”

“No,” Newt said, voice growing dull as he recalled the conversation he’d had with his parents the day before. “Something came up.”

It shouldn’t have been a surprise when they’d cancelled yet another visit at the last minute, but a tiny part of Newt had hoped that since it was Christmas, they might have been willing to bear a little awkwardness if it meant seeing him. He’d been wrong, of course. They were so sorry, his mother had said, but there was simply too much to do for them to drive the three hours to the hospital just to see him.

Newt had nodded even though they couldn’t see him. He’d said that he understood, and then they’d made small talk about the weather and his father’s job. They’d hung up a few minutes later and that had been the end of that.

“Assholes,” Thomas declared, hooking an arm around Newt’s shoulders. Newt tensed immediately, but he needn’t have worried—it was a friendly gesture, that was all. No one even batted an eyelid. He tried to relax, closing his eyes.

“They are, aren’t they?” he agreed.

“Definitely,” Thomas said. “Hey, you should come to visitation anyway. Teresa’s coming tomorrow, you could hang out with us.”

Newt blinked. “Um, what?”

“Well, my parents came last week, right? So they’re doing their own thing tomorrow. Or separate things, probably, I didn’t ask. Teresa’s family aren’t really into the holiday scene, so she’s driving up here to see me instead. Why should you be the only one hiding out in your room during visitation hours? Come with me. Meet Teresa. You’ll love her.”

“Can I come meet Teresa?” Minho said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Me too,” Frypan said, grinning.

Thomas shook his head at both of them. “You _have_ visitors,” he said. “Think of poor Newt, all alone in his room on Christmas Day while the rest of us are out here. That’s hardly fair, is it?”

“I’m right here, you know,” Newt objected.

“Well, are you gonna come or not?”

Newt thought about it. The idea of meeting Teresa the mystery girl was intriguing and terrifying all at once. But it would be nice to join the others for visitation, a privilege that he hadn’t had in several weeks. And it might even be fun, if the visitor wasn’t related to him.

“Sure,” he heard himself saying. “I’ll come.”

Thomas’s grin was blinding. “Great.”

Newt would have liked nothing more than to kiss the smile right off of his face, but they were surrounded by their friends, and besides, he had a therapy session to get to. So he just rolled his eyes instead and got to his feet, promising to be back the moment his session was up.

He felt lighter than he had in weeks as he walked to Dr. Paige’s office. Perhaps it was the holiday spirit, or just the fact that things seemed to be going so well for him lately—whatever the reason, all Newt knew was that the voice of anxiety had been quieter than ever in the last few days. He didn’t want to say that he was cured, especially since he knew that there was no permanent cure for social anxiety, but he’d definitely made a marked improvement.

His good mood was reinforced by the fact that the first thing Dr. Paige did when he arrived at her office was tell him how pleased she was with his progress.

“You’ve been making great strides, Newt,” she said. “To be quite honest, I’m amazed with the turnaround that I’ve seen in the last few weeks. I know there was a bad patch a few weeks ago, but you managed to overcome it and now you’re leaps and bounds ahead of where you were in September.”

“Thank you, Dr. Paige,” Newt said, unable to help a smile breaking across his face.

“I’m proud of you,” the doctor told him, returning his smile with one of her own. “In fact, I think it’s time that we started talking about releasing you.”

“Releasing me?”

“Well, Newt, typically, I don’t think that long-term institutionalisation is the right answer for someone with your disorder,” Dr. Paige said. “When you initially came to the Glade, I had hoped to get you strong enough to go home within a few weeks. It took longer than I expected to get you to the place we want you to be when you go home, but I think you’re almost there. Perhaps after Christmas we can start easing you back into your old routines—for example, we could send you home on the weekends to start with. Does that sound good?”

Newt bit his lip. Going home sounded wonderful. He’d been fantasising about it since the moment he’d arrived at the Glade. But now that he was presented with the reality, he couldn’t help but think about all that he’d be leaving behind when he was released. Alby was probably the best friend he’d ever had. Minho, Gally, Frypan, Chuck. In the last few months, they’d all become more important to him than he ever would have imagined.

And then there was Thomas.

If he left, he would be leaving Thomas behind as well. The thought of not seeing him everyday left an ache in Newt’s chest—and when he realised that his time with Thomas would be limited to visitation hours until he was released, too, the ache intensified until it felt like his heart might burst out of his chest.

But he couldn’t let Dr. Paige see his apprehension. She was looking at him over the rims of her glasses now, waiting for his answer.

“Sounds great,” he said, swallowing hard.

The doctor smiled at him. “Wonderful. I’ll get started on the plans right away.”

 

* * *

 

The decision that had been made in Dr. Paige’s office weighed on Newt for the rest of the night and the next morning. He knew that he should tell Thomas. He deserved to know, and Newt certainly didn’t want to hide anything from him, but he didn’t want to ruin his good mood, either. Christmas had put Thomas on cloud nine. Besides that, he was so excited to introduce Newt to Teresa that it seemed cruel to ruin that.

“You’re going to love her,” Thomas said as they walked to visitation together. “And she’s going to love you, I know it. She knows about us—that’s okay, right?”

He looked at Newt anxiously.

“It’s fine, Tommy. Once she doesn’t blab to the orderlies.”

“She’s _very_ good at keeping secrets.”

They arrived at the rec room and Newt spotted Teresa sitting at a table in the corner, looking very pretty in a red knit dress and an embroidered cardigan, her hair falling over her shoulders in large, bouncy curls. She stood when she spotted them, waving.

“Merry Christmas, Tom,” she said, planting a kiss on Thomas’s cheek. Then she grinned widely at Newt and leaned over to kiss him, too. “And _you_ must be Newt. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Good things, I hope,” Newt said, settling into a chair. Ordinarily, meeting a stranger wouldn’t have gone so smoothly, but he was pleasantly surprised to discover that Teresa gave off the same calming vibe that Thomas did. It was easy to imagine being friends with her.

“Oh, only good things,” Teresa said. She raised an eyebrow at Thomas. “Maybe too many good things, actually. According to my friend here, you can do no wrong, Newt. You’re perfect. Infallible. A god among us.”

“I’d like it to go on the record that I have never once used the phrase ‘a god among us’ when referring to you, Newt,” Thomas declared, though his cheeks were flushed.

Newt raised his own eyebrow, mirroring Teresa’s expression. “What, so you _don’t_ think I’m a god, Tommy?”

That sent Thomas sputtering for a good comeback, and after that, it was easy to talk with him and Teresa. The three of them seemed to have an instant rapport—by the time visitation hours drew to a close, Newt was actually sorry to see Teresa go.

“It was nice to meet you, Newt,” she said, enveloping him in a warm, vanilla scented hug. “You’re even better than Tom said. You’ll look after him in here, right?”

“’Course I will,” Newt said, though he felt a pang as he said it. He wouldn’t be here much longer to look after Thomas.

He knew that he should tell Thomas the truth when Teresa was gone, but then the others were calling everyone to gather in the rec room to exchange Secret Santa gifts. Newt handed his painting over to Minho without much enthusiasm—a moment later, he received a bookmark made from several fuzzy pipe-cleaners from Gally.

The gifts were mediocre at best, and Newt was sure that if anyone out in the real world could see them now, they would think them pathetic, but he didn’t care. Perhaps it was because he knew that he would be leaving soon, but there was a certain sense of warmth in the room as they exchanged presents.

When the presents had all changed hands, Gally called for a game of Monopoly, which immediately sparked an argument about who was going to get to be the dog. In the chaos that erupted afterwards, Thomas sidled up to Newt, slipping his hand surreptitiously into his.

“Come on,” he whispered. “While they’re busy.”

He led Newt down the hallway and to the bedroom that he shared with Alby.

“They’re going to notice we’re gone, Tommy,” Newt said half-heartedly. He didn’t really want to go back to the rec room, but he knew that if they were alone together, he would have no excuse not to tell Thomas about what Dr. Paige had said. He wanted to be alone with Thomas—but being alone with him meant telling the truth, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that.

“Did you know that Alby was my Secret Santa?” Thomas said, shutting the door carefully behind them and stepping close to Newt.

“What, did he make you a pipe-cleaner wallet?”

Thomas shook his head, grinning. “He gave me an hour of uninterrupted time with you,” he said. “He’s going to keep everyone else occupied in the rec room until dinner. Until then, this room is _ours_.”

Newt blinked at him. “You’re not seriously asking me to have sex with you while we’re both in a mental institution, Tommy.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Thomas said, his grin widening. “ _Not_ that I’d be opposed to sex with you. Actually, I think about that pretty much constantly, but that’s not what I meant when I said that we had the room to ourselves. I just meant that we could talk. Without having to speak in code, or avoid touching each other, or act like we’re not more than just friends.” His grin turned to a smirk. “Maybe make out a little. But, you know, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

He leaned in and pressed his lips against Newt’s, hands falling to his waist and resting there, a warm, comforting weight. Newt kissed him back, an immediate reflex, even though he knew that he shouldn’t. They had an hour of uninterrupted alone time—he should be using it to tell Thomas that he was going to be discharged, that they were going to be separated, that he wouldn’t be here for much longer. But it was hard to think about that when Thomas’s tongue was licking into his mouth and his fingers were toying with the waistband of Newt’s scrubs. He backed them up to the edge of Newt’s bed and then they were falling onto the mattress together, Thomas’s body pressing warmly against Newt’s.

“Tommy,” Newt breathed when Thomas pulled away to mouth at his neck, instead. He threaded his fingers through Thomas’s hair, tugging hard and eliciting a murmur of pleasure from the other boy.

“Do that again,” Thomas said appreciatively, pressing a kiss to Newt’s jawline.

He did, and Thomas kissed him properly this time, teeth pulling gently on Newt’s lower lip. Newt tried to lose himself in the moment, to surrender to that familiar feeling of pleasure that always descended on him when Thomas was kissing him, but it was impossible. He kept thinking about the fact that he was leaving.

Worse, he kept picturing Thomas’s face when he told him.

He had to do it now, before they got carried away. Thomas deserved that.

“Tommy,” he murmured against Thomas’s lips. “Tommy, hey. _Thomas_. Stop.”

Thomas pulled away, looking at Newt in confusion. “What’s up? Is something wrong? Shit, am I going too fast?”

“You didn’t do anything,” Newt said. “I just—I just have to tell you something.”

“Okay,” Thomas said, expectant.

Newt hesitated. “I love you,” he said after a moment. It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but the moment the words left his lips, he knew that they were true.

Thomas wrinkled his nose. “Is that it? I thought that went without saying, Newt. I love you, too. C’mon, you knew that. Why do you look so freaked out?”

It was now or never. Newt took a deep breath and said the words that he knew would change everything.

“They’re letting me out.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas processes Newt's confession, Thomas and Newt reveal a secret, and Newt gets ready to leave the Glade for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was really painful to write, so sorry for the long wait! I just couldn't make the words come out. Honestly I'm still not 100% thrilled with how it came out, but it's been so long since I updated that I didn't want to tweak it anymore. Hopefully there's still a few of you reading this!

“You’re leaving?”

The surprise in Thomas’s voice was probably the best outcome that Newt could have hoped for. He’d been expecting hurt, anger, but what he got instead was a furrowed brow and a questioning tone that said he wasn’t quite sure if Newt was telling the truth or not. Newt fumbled for Thomas’s hands, squeezing them in his.

“When I saw Dr. Paige yesterday, she said that she was really pleased with my progress. They want to start on the release process after Christmas.”

Thomas was silent for a long moment, staring down at their interlocked hands.

“So you’re just going to be gone,” he said at last. “One day you’re here and the next you’re not?”

“No,” Newt said quickly, shaking his head. “No, no, Dr. Paige said that they’re going to ease me back into it. So I’ll spend half the week here and half the week at home, or weekends and weekdays, whatever. And then…” He trailed off, biting his lip. “Well, eventually, I’ll be ready to be home all the time, I guess.”

Thomas nodded, swallowing hard. “Okay.”

“Are you okay, Tommy?”

“Me? I’m fine,” Thomas said, slipping his hand out of Newt’s and regaining some of his usual composure. “I mean, we knew when we started this whole thing that it couldn’t last forever, right? So you’re getting released before me. I’m happy for you, Newt.”

Newt blinked at him. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Are you breaking up with me?”

Thomas gave a hollow laugh. “What else am I supposed to do, Newt? You know you’re going to forget about me the second you walk out that door. You’ll forget everything about this place. Who could blame you?”

“I’m not going to forget _anything_ ,” Newt said, frowning. “The Glade may not be the greatest place in the world, but everyone I care about is here. It’s not like I’m going back to some great homecoming, Tommy. My parents don’t want me there. I alienated any friends that I had before I left. You guys, you and Alby and Chuck and everyone else, you’re all I’ve got. You can’t seriously think I’m going to forget about you just because I’m not going to be a patient here anymore.”

“I thought that you’d want to distance yourself from it.” Thomas averted his gaze. “I would.”

“Sure, I want to get away from the hospital,” Newt said. “But not you. Not the others.”

“You say that now, but once you leave, you’re going to feel differently.”

“I’m _not_ ,” Newt said. Thomas was still steadily avoiding his eyes. “Tommy, look at me, would you? The fact that I’m leaving doesn’t change the way I feel about you. Don’t act like this is something I want to do. I don’t _want_ to leave you here.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows. “You’re telling me that you don’t want to get out?” he said skeptically.

“I did,” Newt said, “for months after I got here, it was all I thought about. But in the last few weeks, I’ve actually been happy here. Being with you makes everything easier. You changed everything.”

Thomas’s face softened and he reached out to wrap Newt in a warm hug, holding him like he was something fragile and delicate. Newt closed his eyes and buried his head in the crook between Thomas’s shoulder and neck, inhaling the clean, fresh scent of his skin. He would give anything to freeze time like this, just for a little while.

“I should be happy for you,” Thomas said quietly, “but I just keep picturing myself here without you and I hate it. Selfish, huh?”

“It’s a good kind of selfish,” Newt murmured.

“I just can’t help thinking that once you get out of here, you’re going to forget about me and meet someone else who’s not as screwed up as I am. I hate knowing that I’m going to be stuck in here and you’re going to be out there. And I _really_ hate that that’s what I’m thinking about, when I should be happy that you’re getting better.”

“Tommy, I’m not going to meet anyone else. I don’t _want_ to. If I could take you with me, I would. If they told me I could stay, I would. But it’s not up to me, it’s up to Dr. Paige and my parents. And they want me out of here. They’re sick of making excuses.”

“How long do you think we have?” Thomas asked, drawing back to look in Newt’s eyes.

“A month, maybe two,” Newt said softly. “She didn’t really specify.”

Thomas was silent for a moment. Then, grip tightening around Newt, he said, “I want to tell the others.”

“That I’m leaving?”

“No—well, no, that’s up to you. I want to tell them about us.”

Newt stiffened, pulling out of Thomas’s embrace like he’d been stung. “Are you crazy?” he demanded. “You know the rules—”

“Yeah, I know the rules,” Thomas said, a stubborn glint appearing in his eyes, “but it’s not like they matter anymore, right? You’re leaving. Why should we bother wasting our time hiding when you’re not going to be here in a couple of months?”

“Tommy—”

“I’m not saying that we should announce it to the world,” Thomas said exasperatedly. “But the only reason we were hiding it from our friends was because we didn’t want one of them to slip up and get us caught, right? Well, I don’t care about that anymore. You’re making progress and they want to release you. _You’re_ not going to get transferred if we get caught.”

“But you still could,” Newt said.

“I don’t care. If all I’ve got is a couple of months with you still here, I’m not wasting them pretending that we’re just friends. We can tell the others. They’ll keep it a secret.”

“And if they don’t? If you _do_ get transferred to another ward, or another hospital? It could set your recovery time back. Leave you institutionalised for another six months. I don’t want to be responsible for you not getting to go home.”

“I don’t care,” Thomas repeated. “It’s not up for discussion, Newt. I’m telling them.”

There was finality in his tone, and Newt didn’t want to spend anymore time arguing about it. Thomas was right, anyway—lying to their friends had made the most sense when they thought that they would both be at the Glade for months to come. If Newt really was leaving in a few weeks, they would be able to keep the secret until then.

“Okay,” he said. “We can tell the others.”

 

* * *

 

They did it the next morning after breakfast, when everyone was gathered in the rec room to play board games. Newt let Thomas do all of the talking, afraid that he would say something wrong if he tried to explain.

When Thomas finished, he was met with a series of incredulous looks and one pensive, thoughtful gaze from Alby.

“You’ve been sneaking around since the beginning of November?” Frypan said, wide-eyed.

“How did you get away with it?” Gally demanded.

“Why are you telling us?” Minho said.

Thomas glanced at Newt. “Uh, yes,” he said, directing his attention to Frypan first. “We got together in November. We got away with it by not being obvious. We’re telling you because…” He trailed off, eyes flickering to Newt’s again, who cleared his throat.

“We’re telling you because I’m leaving,” he said, surprised at how strong and clear his voice sounded. It was entirely at odds with the anxiety bubbling in his stomach.

The announcement sent ripples of shock throughout the room. Suddenly, everyone was talking at once, voices blending together in a cacophony of confusion and questions. Finally, Alby managed to quiet the others by raising his hands, and then he fixed Newt with a serious look.

“Explain,” he said, so Newt did.

He told them about the progress he’d been making over the last few weeks and how Dr. Paige planned to start easing him back into the routine of his home life as soon as possible. He tried to keep his voice calm and measured, detached, almost, so that the others wouldn’t know how conflicted he felt at the thought of going home. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful. Most of them would be here for at least another few months. They wouldn’t want to hear him complain about getting to leave.

“I can’t believe you’re actually leaving,” Minho said when he was done. “It’s been ages since anyone left.”

It was true—although the Glade wasn’t technically a facility for long-term treatment, it had been months since a patient in A ward had checked out. It seemed like their ward was a dumping ground for those patients that they couldn’t rehabilitate. At this point, the idea of someone being released was almost an entirely alien concept.

“Congratulations, man,” Frypan said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Seriously. That’s great.”

“Yeah,” Newt said, swallowing the lump that rose in his throat. “Really great.”

Gally frowned. “I’m happy for you,” he said, “but I still don’t get why you told us the other thing.”

“Because they don’t want to hide it from us anymore, dumbass,” Minho said, swatting at Gally. “Right? Newt’s only got a few more weeks here so they don’t want to have to act like they’re just friends.”

“Exactly,” Thomas said. Newt didn’t think that he was imagining the relief in Thomas’s voice. “I mean, it’s not like we’re going to be making out in the rec room or anything. But it’s going to be nice not to have to hide from you guys anymore.” As he spoke, he reached out to squeeze Newt’s hand. Newt returned the gesture, but his heart wasn’t in it.

He’d thought that telling the others would be a weight off his shoulders, but instead, it just made the fact that he was going home seem more real. Revealing their secret meant accepting that things were about to change. Newt still wasn’t ready to admit that.

But he _was_ pleased at how happy Thomas seemed in the wake of their confession. And revealing the truth did have its benefits; whereas before, they would have spent free time in a group with their friends, pretending like they weren’t more than that, now they could actually be alone. After a few more questions, the others seemed content to leave them by themselves. They drifted off to other activities; Alby curled up in the corner with a book, Chuck headed off to his therapy session, Minho, Gally and Frypan set up a game of poker. Thomas and Newt sat on the couch together, closer than they might have before, though they remained ready to move if an orderly or a doctor should suddenly appear.

“Did that go the way you wanted it to?” Newt asked, playing with Thomas’s fingers.

“More or less,” Thomas said. “You?”

“It was fine,” Newt said quietly.

He could tell from the way that Thomas stiffened beside him that the other boy wasn’t entirely pleased with his answer, but Thomas didn’t push it. Instead, he shifted on the couch so that their legs were pressed together and then leaned in close, resting his head against Newt’s shoulder.

“Tell me about what you’re going to do when you get out of here.”

“What?”

“Come on,” Thomas pressed, his breath ghosting across Newt’s neck. “You must have something that you want to do when you get out. Something you really want to eat, some place you want to go. There was life before this place, Newt, remember?”

Newt didn’t give voice to the thought that flitted through his mind at Thomas’s words—that yes, he remembered life before the Glade, and it wasn’t a life he was eager to get back to. That despite the inconveniences and drawbacks of living at the hospital, it was one of the greatest things that had ever happened to him. That he knew he had to get back to the real world eventually, but right now, he thought that he would be perfectly happy to stay here with Thomas forever.

He didn’t say any of that, because he knew that Thomas was just as upset about his pending release as he was, and that he had to at least act as if he was going to be okay when he got out. If Thomas knew just how much Newt didn’t want to leave, then they would both be miserable—and what was the point in that?

“I guess the first thing I’m going to do is buy some new clothes,” he said at last. “I’m really sick of wearing scrubs all the time.”

“Good choice,” Thomas said approvingly. Then he looked up at Newt, frowning. “I just realised that I’ve never seen you in real clothes. How weird is that?”

“Weird,” Newt agreed.

“What kind of stuff do you wear? Are you a jeans and t-shirt kinda guy? No, wait, I’ve got it. You’re a hipster. Your entire closet is made up of flannel shirts and beanie hats.”

“I may have a flannel shirt or two.”

“I bet they look good on you.”

“I’ll wear one when I come to visit,” Newt promised. “Just for you.”

Thomas suddenly shifted to the other side of the couch and Newt frowned, feeling oddly empty at the loss of Thomas’s body against his. He wondered if he’d said something wrong, but then he spotted the orderly rounding the corner and simply felt relieved that Thomas had been smart enough to move away. Not a moment later, though, he found himself doubting Thomas’s intelligence as his hand snaked across the couch and gripped Newt’s.

“You’re really going to visit?” Thomas said, voice quiet, and after that Newt couldn’t bring himself to be angry about Thomas’s recklessness.

“I told you,” he said, squeezing Thomas’s fingers, “I’m not going to forget about you. I couldn’t if I tried.”

 

* * *

 

Two weeks after Christmas, the release process began.

They started simple, like Dr. Paige had promised, with Newt spending the weekend at home with his parents. It was strange how alien his own home felt to him; surrounded by his baby pictures, childhood trophies and the furniture he’d grown up with, he felt out of place and wrong. The first weekend he spent away from the Glade, he found himself longing for the clean white walls and sanitised scent of the room that he shared with Alby.

Sleeping alone was a difficult adjustment. He’d grown accustomed to the sound of Alby breathing on the other side of the room, to the rituals that he had to perform before bed every night. That first Friday, Newt found himself lying awake, unable to sleep without his best friend’s presence beside him.

Meals were strange, too. At the Glade, mealtimes ran on a strict schedule and there was a menu that the cooks followed to the letter. At home, his parents cooked when they were hungry, not at a specific time. They never planned what they were going to eat in advance; they checked the cupboards, and if there was nothing there, then they ordered in.

Newt had forgotten what Chinese take-out tasted like.

His parents were painfully nice to him during that first weekend, like they were afraid that any wrong move might send him back to the Glade for good. That made the transition more difficult. Newt was used to parents who criticised and disciplined and treated him like their child—these overly polite robots were unsettling and made him feel like a guest rather than a relative.

After the first weekend, though, things got easier. His parents started to act more like parents than hosts. He got used to sleeping without a roommate. He started looking forward to the spontaneity of meals and the endless choice offered to him by the lack of routine.

When she was satisfied with his progress, Dr. Paige added a few days to his time at home. It was just like she’d said it would be; he spent half the week at the Glade, and the other half at home with his parents. Despite his apprehensions, Newt continued to improve. Being at home, it turned out, was less terrifying than he’d expected. At times, he found himself looking forward to it.

There was just one problem, and that was being separated from Thomas.

When he was at home, Newt had no way of contacting Thomas. He couldn’t write or call for fear of rousing suspicion. Visiting was out of the question, because it would definitely set off alarm bells if Newt wanted to spend one of his days at home driving back to the Glade to see the others. From the moment Newt left the Glade on Friday morning to the moment he returned on Tuesday evening, he and Thomas were apart.

Newt hated not being able to talk to Thomas. Whenever he thought about it, the voice of anxiety reared its ugly head.

_He probably doesn’t want to talk to you anyway_ , it whispered.

_He’s forgotten about you already,_ it added.

_Soon, you’re going to be at home all of the time, and he probably won’t even care_ , it gloated.

Every time, Newt pushed it away. But he still dreaded the day that Dr. Paige decided he was ready to be at home full-time. He hoped that day wouldn’t come for at least another few months—but in early March, just a week after Newt’s one year anniversary at the Glade, Dr. Paige called him to her office.

“So,” the doctor said, smiling at him from her position on the couch. “Things have been going well, Newt, haven’t they?”

“Yeah, I guess. I’ve been getting used to things.”

“And you’ve been doing a great job,” Dr. Paige told him. “I’m very pleased with your progress. You’re adjusting well to being at home again and your parents tell me that you’ve been leaving the house quite a bit lately. Going to the store by yourself, taking walks. These aren’t small things, Newt. You’ve done very well at home so far.”

“Thank you, Dr. Paige,” Newt said, though his voice was dull. He was waiting for the blow that he knew was coming—the revelation that it was time for the final step. Time for him to go home for good.

“Well, there’s no point beating around the bush,” the doctor said, not swayed by his lack of excitement. “I think it’s time for you to leave the Glade for good, Newt. What do you think?”

He wanted to protest and say that he wasn’t ready, but he knew that he couldn’t. The doctor was asking for his opinion, but she didn’t really want it. She’d decided that he was ready to leave, and that was that. Nothing he could say would change her mind, so he forced a smile and gave a quick nod.

“Whatever you think is best, Dr. Paige.”

“Wonderful,” she replied, returning his smile with one of her own. “I’ve put your parents in touch with a very good counsellor in your area and recommended that you see him twice a week to start with. You’ll come back to the Glade every two months for reassessment, but I don’t think you’ll have any problems once you’re home. You’re ready for this, Newt. I’m proud of you.”

He thanked her, but there was a lump in his throat.

“When will I be going?” he asked, afraid to hear the answer.

“Let’s see,” Dr. Paige said, pursing her lips. “It’s Thursday now… you would have been going home tomorrow morning for the weekend, so I see no reason to put it off. I’ll have your discharge papers taken care of tonight and you can leave as planned in the morning.” She beamed at him. “Congratulations, Newt. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you, Dr. Paige,” he said, but the words were hollow.

Tomorrow. He was leaving tomorrow.

It was too soon.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt leaves the Glade. Thomas doesn't handle it too well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo I think as a whole this fic bears a blanket trigger warning, but this chapter in particular may be triggering to people with self harm issues. There's nothing graphic, but proceed with caution!
> 
> This is just about it for this fic, I think. One more short chapter to wrap everything up and then that's it. I'm going to miss writing these two!
> 
> Thanks so much again to anyone who's read, commented on, bookmarked or left kudos on this fic so far. I hope you're not too disappointed that we're almost at the end now! :)

There was only one thing on Newt’s mind when he left Dr. Paige’s office, and that was finding Thomas. In less than twelve hours, Newt would be leaving the Glade for good—he wanted to spend as much time with Thomas as he could before that happened.

He checked Thomas’s room but only found Chuck there, lying on his bed with a colouring book and some pencils. He wasn’t in the library, either. The rec room proved fruitless; Gally and Minho were there, debating the pros of pizza versus Indian food over a game of checkers, and Alby and Frypan were watching an old black and white movie on the television, but Thomas was nowhere to be found. Feeling dejected, Newt headed for his own room, thinking that Thomas must be in a therapy session with one of the other doctors.

When he pushed open his bedroom door, however, he found Thomas sitting cross-legged on his bed, a book laid open on his lap. He looked up when Newt walked in, a smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re back,” he said, marking his place and closing his book. “I convinced Alby to let us hang out in here alone for a while, since you’re going to be gone for a few days.” His smile faltered when he noticed Newt’s expression. “Newt? What’s wrong?”

Newt closed the door carefully behind him and then crossed the room to sit beside Thomas, fidgeting anxiously with his hands. He tried to think of how he could tell Thomas the truth without hurting him.

He didn’t know if there _was_ a way to do that.

In the end, he didn’t have to say anything. Thomas just knew.

“When?” he asked quietly.

“Tomorrow morning,” Newt said.

“That’s not enough time,” Thomas said, shaking his head. “You can’t go tomorrow. They can’t just make you go like that. Don’t they have to give you some kind of notice?”

He was speaking rapidly, tripping over his sentences. Newt knew that he was panicking. He took Thomas’s hand.

“I was going home tomorrow, anyway,” he said softly. “Dr. Paige just decided that I wouldn’t be coming back this time.”

Thomas met Newt’s eyes, lips twisting into a frown. “I’m not ready for you to go, Newt.”

“I’m not ready, either.”

Thomas looped his arms around Newt’s neck, pulling him into a tight embrace. He buried his face in the crook between Newt’s shoulder and his neck, warm breath ghosting against the exposed skin.

“You’re going to visit me, right?”

“Of course,” Newt promised, tightening his grip around Thomas. “You couldn’t stop me if you tried. I’m going to be here every Saturday. You’ll be sick of me after a couple of weeks.”

“Not a chance.”

“Wanna bet?”

Thomas was silent for a moment. “It’s going to be weird without you.”

“It’ll be okay, Tommy. You’ll get used to it. I’ve been gone most of the time lately anyway.”

“That was different,” Thomas said. “I always knew you were coming back.”

Newt pulled out of Thomas’s embrace to look him in the eye. “Hey,” he said firmly. “I’m not just abandoning you here. Understand that? Just think of this as an extension to your visitor’s list. Think how jealous everybody’s gonna be when your hot boyfriend visits you.”

Thomas laughed. “My hot boyfriend thinks very highly of himself.”

“Yeah, well, therapy works wonders,” Newt grinned.

They spent the next hour sitting side by side on the bed and talking, legs pressed so closely together that Newt thought they might melt into one person, if they tried. Their time alone was often spent stealing kisses, trying to get as much of each other as they could before they were forced into hiding again, but now, it was as if they couldn’t get enough of each other’s voices. Newt wanted Thomas to talk forever.

The topics they covered weren’t new—they touched on Thomas’s accident, his life at home, Newt’s parents. But even though the discussion wasn’t a new one, it felt eye-opening. By the time Alby reluctantly poked his head in to say that it was almost time for lights out, Newt felt as though he knew Thomas better than before. Better than he’d known anyone else before, even.

Alby averted his gaze while they kissed goodnight and then Thomas got to his feet, still clutching Newt’s hand loosely.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he said. “Before you leave. Don’t go without saying goodbye, alright?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Newt said thickly. He hoped that Thomas and Alby didn’t realise how close he was to tears.

Thomas left the room and Alby began to perform his night-time rituals. Newt dressed for bed and then lay back, waiting for Alby to settle in for the night. When the lights were out and they were both in bed, Alby cleared his throat, and Newt waited expectantly for the question that he knew was coming.

When it finally came, it wasn’t a question at all.

“You’re leaving,” Alby said. “For good.”

Even though Alby couldn’t see him, Newt nodded. “Yeah. Looks like it.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

Alby was silent for a moment. “You and Thomas gonna be okay?”

“I hope so,” Newt replied. “I mean, yeah. I think so. I really hope so.”

“Yeah,” Alby said thoughtfully. “Me too. I’m rooting for you, man.”

He fell silent, and within a few minutes, he was snoring gently on the other side of the room. Newt lay awake a while longer, wondering what the morning would bring. The more he thought about it, the more anxious he grew, until sleep seemed like an impossibility. It wasn’t until it was beginning to grow light outside that he finally managed to drift off. Less than two hours later, Alby was shaking him awake for breakfast.

There was a pit in his stomach as he followed Alby to the dining hall. He was leaving today. Really leaving.

He broke the news to the others at breakfast and was met with a mixture of congratulations and reprimands for keeping the news to himself.

“We wanted to throw you a goodbye party,” Chuck told him, crestfallen.

“I just found out last night,” Newt said, “but thanks for the thought, Chuck.”

He meant it. When he’d first arrived at the Glade, he’d never thought that he would find real friends here. All he’d wanted was to get home as soon as possible. Now, the thought of leaving them behind left a lump in his throat.

After breakfast, there was an hour before his parents were due to pick him up. He would have liked to spend it alone with Thomas, but the others insisted on throwing him an impromptu party in the rec room.

“There’s no decorations,” Chuck said, “and no food or presents or anything like that, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“You got it, Chuck,” Minho put in. “Newt knows that we’re doing the best with what we’ve got.”

In truth, it was more like a regular Friday morning in the Glade than anything else, but Newt appreciated it anyway. He found himself the centre of attention, and surprisingly, he didn’t hate it. The others wanted to know what he would do when he got home, when he was planning to visit, what conditions there were for his release. The conversation never stopped, but Newt couldn’t help but notice that Thomas was strangely quiet. There wasn’t a minute for him to ask if he was okay, though—every time Newt answered one question, there was another to consider.

All too soon, an orderly appeared with the news that Newt’s parents had arrived.

“I hear you’re leaving us for good,” she said with a smile. “I’ll let you say your goodbyes. Just follow me down to reception when you’re ready, okay?”

She left, and Newt was suddenly faced with the reality of leaving.

Chuck was the first to say goodbye, wrapping his chubby arms around him in a tight hug and telling him to stay in touch. Gally was gruff as always, but Frypan’s smile never left his face when he wished Newt luck. Minho cuffed him on the arm made him promise to find some girls to visit them.

“Before we all end up like you and Thomas,” he added, raising his eyebrows suggestively at Alby. He earned an elbow in the side from Gally for the remark.

Alby hugged him briefly and then stepped back, face turning stoic. “Good luck,” he said. “Best roommate I could ask for, you know that? We’re going to miss you.”

And then, there was only Thomas.

When Thomas came forward, the other boys seemed to melt away. Newt dimly recognised that they must be backing off to give them space to say goodbye, but he was focused entirely on Thomas. He’d been quiet all morning. Would he be quiet now, too?

He wrapped his arms around Newt, burying his head in Newt’s shoulder and taking a deep breath. Newt heard the crinkle of paper and when Thomas pulled away, he saw that he was holding an envelope, so tightly that he was almost crushing it.

“I’m not good with goodbyes,” Thomas said, faltering a little and then pressing the envelope into Newt’s hands. “So, uh, I wrote some stuff down. For you to read when you get home.”

“Okay,” Newt said, clutching the paper reflexively.

Thomas’s eyes flickered to Newt’s. “I wish I could kiss you,” he said softly.

Newt’s heart stuttered. “Me too.”

“I’m going to miss you.”

“Me too.”

“Just promise you’ll visit, yeah?”

“I already told you,” Newt said, “you couldn’t keep me away if you tried.” He hesitated, wanting to say more, but not knowing how. “… I better go.”

“Yeah,” Thomas said, swallowing hard. Then, blushing, “I love you.”

Newt’s fingers tightened around Thomas’s letter. “I love you, too, Tommy.”

There was nothing else to say, really. With one last, long look at Thomas, Newt left the rec room, a knot twisting in his stomach as he made his way to reception.

 

* * *

 

It was strange how easily Newt settled into life at home again. He’d been worried about finding his feet there, sure that even with all the practice of coming home on weekends that he’d had for the past few weeks that he would feel out of place and wrong. But he slipped into a routine as easily as if he’d never been away at all.

It helped that the issue of school hadn’t been resolved yet; after spending so long in the Glade, Newt was going to have to repeat a year, but his parents hadn’t quite figured out the logistics of that just yet. So for the time being, he remained at home, monitored by his mother in what she probably thought was a very subtle way. He painted. He caught up on the television that he’d missed while he was in the hospital. He started to cook, suddenly eager to do things for himself instead of letting his parents coddle him.

He didn’t read Thomas’s letter.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to know what was inside. The truth was the opposite: he was desperate to know what Thomas wanted to say to him, but he didn’t think that he was ready yet. Dr. Paige had been very clear about how careful he would need to be while he was adjusting to regular everyday life. He didn’t want to upset his progress, so the letter remained on a shelf in his bedroom, unopened and unread.

He didn’t visit Thomas that first week, either, because his parents were adamantly against it.

“You just got home,” his mother reminded him. “Don’t you think you should take a few weeks to get back to yourself before you go back to the hospital?”

At first, Newt resisted. “You just don’t want me to see my friends,” he argued. But his mother shook her head, looking resigned.

“Of course I want you to see your friends, Newt,” she said gently. “But I think that a little distance between you and the hospital right now is a good thing. You can go in a week or two, but let’s get your head above water, first.”

He would have argued further, but in some strange way, his mother did have a point. He needed to get used to real life again.

He missed Thomas, but the time apart would just make it even better when they saw each other again, he decided. In the long run, it was probably better for both of them to get used to this new normal.

Except that day seemed to get further and further away the more Newt thought about it. His mother found excuses to keep him from visiting the hospital, and eventually, Newt grew used to the ache of missing Thomas. They’d known that things would change when he was released. Perhaps this was the way it would be from now on.

Before Newt realised it, it had been weeks since he was released. He might not even have noticed, if he hadn’t gotten a visit from Teresa one Saturday morning.

Opening the door to find her standing on the step was surreal. It took Newt a moment to place her; somehow, she looked different without the white walls of the Glade rec room behind her. Or maybe it was the absence of her easy smile and the mischievous glint that always lurked in her eyes. Right now, she looked sombre and serious, her lips set in a thin line, bags etched beneath her eyes.

“Hi, Newt,” she said before he could speak. “Can I come in for a minute?”

Wordlessly, Newt stepped aside to let her pass. It was one of those rare days where he was alone in the house. He led Teresa into the kitchen, running through what was expected of him like a reflex: how was she, did she want a cup of tea, coffee, would she like something to eat. It wasn’t until they were both sitting at the kitchen table with cups of coffee that Newt was able to ask the questions he really wanted to know the answers to.

“What are you doing here? How did you know where I lived?”

“You gave Tom your address,” Teresa said, cupping her hands around her coffee and looking down into the cup almost guiltily. “When you didn’t visit, I made him tell me so I could knock some sense into you. He told me not to,” she added. “So I didn’t, but… I had to come today.”

Immediately, Newt was on alert. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Okay, don’t freak out,” Teresa said, eyeing him like he was an animal that she was afraid of spooking. “Tom’s fine—did you get that? He’s _fine_. But there was an incident at the hospital last week.”

“What kind of incident?” Newt demanded. “What happened?”

“He hasn’t been doing so well since you left,” Teresa said, avoiding Newt’s eyes. “I guess he got hold of something sharp and started to hurt himself. But he’s okay,” she said quickly as Newt’s jaw slackened. “He’s alright, they took it away from him and they’ve put him on new medication and he’s allowed visitors. I figured you still haven’t been to see him, but I thought you’d want to know. He’d want you to know.”

Newt swallowed hard. It felt as if time had slowed down; he could hear Teresa speaking, he didn’t miss her reassurances that Thomas was okay, but his mind kept sticking on the fact that Thomas had been hurting himself.

Was it because of Newt? Because he hadn’t visited yet?

He’d thought that he was doing the right thing by waiting—letting them both adjust to being apart before seeing each other again.

“Newt?” Teresa said. “Are you alright?”

“Sorry,” Newt said, blinking. “I don’t really know what to say. I’m sorry.”

He got to his feet and staggered over to the sink, clutching at the countertop as he heaved. Teresa came up behind him and laid a hand on his back. She rubbed soothing circles along his spine while he threw up, and when he finally straightened up, she handed him a paper towel, still rubbing his back.

“He’s okay,” she told him. “Really, he’s okay.”

“It’s my fault,” Newt said, shaking his head. “He needed me and I wasn’t there. I should’ve visited.”

To his surprise, Teresa gave a sigh and nodded. “Okay, yeah,” she said. “You should’ve visited. But it’s not your fault. You didn’t make him do this. He’s sick, Newt. It’s not the first time something like this has happened. How do you think he ended up in the hospital in the first place?”

“He said he wasn’t suicidal.”

“What?”

“He said that the doctors admitted him as a precaution and that he wasn’t really suicidal,” Newt said. Teresa’s face softened.

“He doesn’t like to admit it,” she said quietly, “but it’s happened before, and it’s probably going to happen again. It’s nobody’s fault. You can’t blame yourself.”

“I can’t help it.”

Teresa sighed again. “Yeah. I know.” Then she perked up, her hand stalling on his back while a smile spread across her face. “Listen, I’m heading over to the hospital to visit him today. I happen to know that he’s already added you to his visitors’ list. Why don’t we surprise him?”

Newt’s response was immediate. “Definitely.” He remembered the letter suddenly, still sitting on the shelf upstairs. “Can you give me a minute? There’s something I want to do first.”

Teresa’s smile widened. “I’ll warm up the car.”

The walk upstairs seemed to take forever, but when Newt was holding the envelope in his hands, it somehow still felt too soon. He stared down at the white paper, crumpled from where both he and Thomas had clutched at it. He was painfully aware that Teresa was waiting for him; he couldn’t put it off any longer. As he slid his thumb beneath the flap of the envelope, an image flashed behind his eyes of Thomas with his wrists bleeding. He shook his head like he was trying to clear water out of his ears and then finally slid the letter out of the envelope.

It was short; there were no gooey declarations of love, no confessed secrets or promises for the future. It was just Thomas, plain and simple, thanking Newt for being there and saying that things didn’t have to change. A lump rose in his throat as he read it. Not for the first time that day, he felt terribly, sickeningly guilty at how long it had been since he’d seen Thomas.

He crumpled the letter and the envelope, dropping them both in the trash. He didn’t need them—he was going to see Thomas for real.

 

* * *

 

The drive to the Glade felt longer than it used to, though Newt thought that was probably because he was nervous. It didn’t matter though, because Teresa, it turned out, was an excellent road trip companion. She had great taste in music, a prime selection of snacks in the car, and the conversation was easy and fun. Newt could almost forget why they were going to the Glade. It felt just like any other Saturday trip.

When they finally arrived, Newt took a moment to look at the hospital. It seemed smaller, less significant. He wondered if that was just because he’d been away or if it was somehow symbolic of the fact that he was moving on.

It was the first one, he decided. He had enough problems in his life without trying to assign a symbolic double meaning to everything.

“You ready for this?” Teresa asked as they headed into reception.

“I think so. Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” Newt said, though the familiar feeling of anxiety was starting to twist in his stomach and his mind.

_He’s not going to want to see you_ , that traitorous old voice whispered. _He hurt himself because of you, why would he want anything to do with you? Stupid. You should just turn around and go home now, he’ll be better off without you._

He ignored it, though it was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.

It was strange, being on the other side of visiting day at the Glade, but stranger still was the fact that the nurse who signed them in didn’t recognise Newt. She was new, he thought, so of course she wouldn’t, but it felt odd all the same.

They left their coats and Teresa’s purse in the little room behind the reception desk and then they were being led down familiar hallways to the rec room. Newt’s palms started to sweat as they got closer, and then they were in the doorway, and there it was. The same white walls he remembered. The threadbare couches. The awkwardly arranged tables and chairs, the old tv set, the shelf of board games.

It was all exactly how he’d left it.

And there were the people he’d left behind—Alby sitting at one of the tables with his parents, Minho on the couch with his brother, Frypan with his dad and an older lady (a grandmother?), Gally with his mother. Chuck was missing, but Newt didn’t have a moment to wonder where he could be, because there was _Thomas_.

He looked the same as before, except for the dark bags beneath his eyes and the white bandages circling his wrists. Newt felt a pang as he looked at them. They were all that he could look at as Teresa tugged him over to the table where Thomas was sitting, waiting for them.

“Hi, Tom,” Teresa said. “Look who’s here.”

It was only then that Thomas looked up, his eyes meeting Newt’s. Something flashed over his face and then he looked at Teresa.

“Would you mind giving us a few minutes alone?”

She studied him carefully. “Yeah. No problem. Holler if you need me.”

And then she left, and they were alone, and Newt had never been more anxious in his entire life.

He sat, because it seemed ridiculous to just stand there staring at Thomas. Silence hung in the air between them, until finally, Newt couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t know what to say, but he had to say something or he was going to have some kind of breakdown.

“Hey, Tommy,” he said, voice cracking.

“What are you doing here?” Thomas asked quietly.

“I came to see you.”

“ _Why_?” Thomas said, glaring at him all of a sudden. “Did Teresa make you come? What, she told you what happened and you felt sorry for me? I don’t need you to pity me, Newt.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” Newt said. “I came because—Jesus. I fucked up, Tommy. I thought it would be easier on both of us if I stayed away for a little while. I didn’t think you were going to…” He trailed off, unwilling to say the words aloud.

“I didn’t do that because of you.”

“Why did you?”

“I used to do it all the time,” Thomas said. “It made me feel better. It hasn’t been great here, since you left.”

Newt swallowed. “So it is my fault.”

“ _No_. It was everything. Look, you left and then Chuck was transferred and Dr. Paige was supposed to review my record, see if I could leave soon, but she said that I couldn’t. It’s just been a bad few weeks, alright? Anyway, it doesn’t matter. They’re keeping an eye on me now. I’m fine.” He fixed Newt with a serious gaze. “I told them about us.”

“You did?”

“I didn’t think you were coming back. I didn’t think it would matter.”

“Tommy—”

“It _doesn’t_ matter,” Thomas said fiercely. “You’re not a patient here anymore, they can’t tell you not to be with me. And you don’t want to, anyway, so it’s fine. It’s all fine. It doesn’t matter.”

“ _Thomas_ ,” Newt said, forcing Thomas to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit. I’m really bloody sorry. I was always going to come, but my parents kept coming up with reasons for me not to. And after that I told myself it was the right thing for both of us, to wait a little while, so we could get used to the way things were going to be. But now I think I was probably just scared of how things would change once I was out and you were still here. I fucked up and I’m sorry.” He reached across the table, fumbling for Thomas’s hand. “But I _do_ want to be with you. If I’ve ruined everything and you don’t want that anymore, I’ll back off, but trust me. I want this. I want us.”

Thomas regarded him suspiciously, but he didn’t yank his hand away, which Newt thought was a good sign.

“What you did was really shitty,” he told him.

“I know that.”

“I needed you and you weren’t here.”

“I’m never going to forgive myself for that.”

“You said you wouldn’t abandon me. You promised.”

“I can’t go back and change what I did,” Newt said, “but if I could, I’d do it in a heartbeat. You have to know that, Tommy.”

Thomas looked at him for a long time, considering, and Newt was certain that he was going to ask him to leave. He’d ruined everything, he knew that. If Thomas told him to leave and never contact him again, he would understand.

Finally though, Thomas’s fingers tightened around his, and Newt allowed himself the briefest glimmer of hope.

“We all do stupid shit,” Thomas said slowly. He gestured to his wrists, cracking the first smile that Newt had seen from him today. “I’m a living, breathing example of that. I get it. You were scared. Let’s forget about it.”

Newt’s heart leapt. He couldn’t help it; even with all of the people around him, he leaned forward to kiss Thomas, their first kiss since Newt had left the Glade all those weeks ago. His lips were softer than Newt had remembered. When he pulled away, he saw that Thomas was grinning widely, and Newt felt suddenly, immensely grateful that he hadn’t destroyed what they had entirely.

“I’m going to make this up to you,” he promised, squeezing Thomas’s hand tightly. “Soon as you get out of here, I’m taking you on the greatest date of your whole life.”

Thomas’s grin grew even wider. “I’m holding you to that.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas is released from the Glade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it, the final part! This fic ended up being much longer than initially planned, mostly because I didn't want to say goodbye to these two. But all things have to come to an end and I felt like this was a fitting way to bring all of this to a close.
> 
> I definitely plan on writing more Newtmas in the future because this was just so much fun to write, but for now, this is it. In light of that, thank you, thank you, thank you to all of you who've taken the time to read these ramblings of mine, but especially thank you to those fabulous people who've subscribed, bookmarked, commented and left kudos. I hope you've enjoyed the ride!

Newt came to the Glade for the last time three days after his nineteenth birthday.

It was the first time he drove there himself, in the rusty old station wagon that his parents had given him for his birthday. Usually, Teresa drove, but today, Newt felt like he should go alone.

Today, Thomas was being released.

He was the last of the boys who’d been there during Newt’s time at the Glade to get out.

Chuck had been transferred just a few days after Newt’s own release—over a year ago, Newt realised dazedly—and then he’d gone home a few weeks after that. He kept in touch with Thomas, but he’d moved to another state with his parents, so visits didn’t happen too often.

Minho was the next to leave, released into his brother’s custody after several careful meetings with Dr. Paige and a new drug regimen. The last Newt had heard, he was running on his school track team and working part-time in a grocery store. He was also engaged in a flirtatious texting relationship with Teresa, though nothing had come of it yet.

Gally and Frypan had been released the same week, both of them finally having overcome the issues that landed them in the Glade in the first place. Frypan kept in touch with everyone, so Newt knew that he was happy at home and getting ready to apply to culinary schools. Gally was harder to pin down; the few times Newt had managed to speak to him, he’d admitted that talking to people from the Glade reminded him of what it felt like to be sick, and he was afraid of relapsing. He texted every few weeks or so to let Newt know how he was doing, but other than that, it was radio silence.

Newt could respect that. Gally was just looking out for his own health, after all.

It had only been a few weeks since Alby was released. Newt had convinced his parents to drive him to the hospital for the occasion, so that he could congratulate Alby on getting a handle on things at last. It had been incredibly satisfying to see the smile on Alby’s face as he walked across the hospital parking lot to hug Newt. He’d clapped him hard on the back and made him promise that they would stay in touch, and so far, they had. Newt was sure that they always would.

And now, it was Thomas’s turn.

His parents were taking care of the release paperwork right now, but Newt was the one who was going to drive him home. Thomas had insisted on it, and though his parents had been reluctant at first, eventually, they’d agreed. So Newt was waiting, leaning against the door of his station wagon and watching the hospital doors eagerly.

If he was being entirely honest, when he’d left the Glade, he hadn’t expected it to take this long for him to be reunited with Thomas in the ‘real’ world.

Thomas always seemed so composed, capable of enduring anything. It turned out that one of the things that helped Thomas’s condition was stability—and Newt’s release from the Glade was the catalyst for a series of changes that had ripped the world from underneath his feet.

It wasn’t Newt’s fault, Thomas had assured him more than once, but he just didn’t do well with change. His parents’ divorce had been the initial trigger that landed him in the Glade in the first place, after all, and what signified change more to a teenager than the break-up of their parents?

Thomas’s aversion to change and his unwillingness to acknowledge it made things difficult for him at the hospital once Newt had left, even more so when the others started to leave. Every time it seemed like he was getting back on track, someone else was released. It was one step forward and two steps back.

But slowly, he’d progressed. Every release got a little bit easier. He remembered what had really happened the day he tried to kill himself, setting him on the path that got him admitted to the Glade, and instead of dodging questions about it like he’d used to, he opened up to Newt and Dr. Paige.

By the time Alby had left, he’d been able to admit to his depression and the fact that sometimes, yes, he wanted to kill himself.

“Not as much, lately,” he’d told Newt the last time he visited. “Things are getting easier, I think.”

It didn’t sound like much, but to Newt, it meant everything.

As he watched the hospital doors, he saw a familiar dark-haired figure approaching, flanked on either side by parents. His heart picked up pace as Thomas emerged from the Glade into the evening sunlight, looking nervous and excited at the same time. It had been less than a week since Newt saw him last, but there was something different about him; it took him a moment to figure out why.

Thomas wasn’t wearing scrubs. He was wearing _real_ clothes for the first time since Newt had met him, a pair of dark jeans that clung to his body like a second skin and a loose grey hoodie. Newt swallowed hard, trying not to let his mind wander to bad places.

This was a big day for Thomas—the least Newt could do was keep his hormones in check.

(Though he had every intention of tearing those jeans off with his teeth whenever Thomas gave him permission.)

He saw Thomas scanning the parking lot, a small frown forming on his lips as he tried to spot Newt. Newt raised his hand in a wave and saw Thomas’s eyes light up in recognition, and then he was running towards him. _Actually_ running—and he was fast, Newt realised. Before he had a chance to stand up straight, Thomas was launching himself into Newt’s arms, embracing him so tightly that Newt momentarily lost the ability to breathe. On reflex, he tightened his grip around Thomas.

“Hey, Tommy,” he wheezed, and he didn’t get a chance to get his breath back because Thomas was kissing him.

Under ordinary circumstances, Newt would have been embarrassed since Thomas’s parents were no doubt watching them, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. This was the first time they’d really kissed since Newt had left the Glade, despite the fact that he had visited religiously after their initial misunderstanding. He intended to enjoy it.

Finally, Thomas pulled back, lips curving into a grin as he looked up at Newt.

“I’ve been thinking about doing that for _months_ ,” he told him.

“Well, I hope it didn’t disappoint,” Newt said, arms still cradling Thomas’s back.

“It was a solid eight,” Thomas said nonchalantly, still grinning like a fool. “Technique could use some work. You’re _very_ out of practice.”

“I would’ve thought you’d be pleased about that.”

“Oh, I am. And don’t worry, I have every intention of helping you get up to speed.”

Newt laughed, dropping his head down to rest on Thomas’s shoulder. He breathed in the scent of him. The entire situation felt unreal. Newt still found it difficult to believe that they could do this now—that they didn’t have to hide behind closed doors or hold hands over a table in the rec room. They could be a real couple, out in the real world, without having to hide from anyone. Even Newt’s parents were okay with things now—he’d convinced them to come with him to visit Thomas a few months back, and they’d realised how good they were for one another. They still weren’t totally on board with Newt having a boyfriend, but they weren’t actively trying to stop them from being together, either. It was progress.

Thomas’s parents had never needed convincing. They were fine with Thomas’s sexuality, and they’d already accepted Newt as if he was a second son.

“Do you need to say goodbye to your parents or anything?” Newt asked quietly, still resting his head against Thomas’s shoulder.

“Nah, I told them I’d see them at home. You’ve been invited for dinner, by the way.”

“Think we might have to take a rain check on that one.”

“What, you don’t want to have an incredibly awkward meal with my recently divorced parents where they tell you embarrassing childhood stories about me and subtly threaten to murder you if you ever hurt me? Wow, what _do_ you like to do for fun, Newt?”

“I’d love to have an awkward dinner with your parents,” Newt said, smiling, “but I have a promise to keep.”

“Oh?” Thomas said. His eyebrows were raised, but there was a knowing smile on his face.

Newt gave a little shrug. “Yeah, a while back I kind of promised this guy that I’d take him on the best date of his life.”

“This guy,” Thomas said, pursing his lips. “I think I know him. Ruggedly handsome, charming and incredibly witty, am I right?”

“And modest,” Newt agreed. “Super modest.”

Thomas laughed and then leaned up to kiss him again. “He’s a lucky guy,” he said when he pulled away, “if he managed to get you to agree to go out with him.”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” Newt said softly. Thomas grinned and then slipped out of Newt’s arms, bounding around to the passenger side of the station wagon.

“Alright, enough sappy shit,” he said, wrenching the door open. “Where are we going on this most incredible of dates? The movies? A park? A museum?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Newt told him, climbing into the driver’s seat. “It’s a surprise.”

Thomas’s eyes flickered to the low structure of the hospital as the car rattled slowly to the exit, and then his fingers snaked across the console, resting over Newt’s where he was gripping the gear shift.

“Wherever it is,” Thomas said, “it’s better than here.”

 


End file.
